Paradigm Shift
by TheRedDragoon
Summary: Only infant dragons were immune to the call of an alpha, it was basic dragon knowledge. Too bad an undersized Night Fury was the exception to this rule. The real kicker: said Night Fury wasn't a dragon yesterday. Hiccup, just what did you get yourself into this time? Deviates at the start of the first movie.
1. Author Notes

**Paradigm Shift**

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Author Notes

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If you want to jump right into the story hit that next button right now. If, on the other hand, you are curious about extra information, disclaimers, etc., stay right here on this page.

-Background-

It's rare in works, especially in animation that the sequel has any of the power that the original possesses. Well, HTTYD is one of those special cases where the second entity has just as much oomph as the first. The movie has some problems with pacing, but has a brilliant portrayal of progress that most sequels lack. It doesn't feel like filler and, in today's greedy society, that is a rarity in and of itself.

Because of this, I decided to push this story forward. The basic premise of this story is extremely simple: it's a transformation story. I have a guilty pleasure when it comes to these stories and wanted to try my hand at one. However, I do not know how to plan a short story and thus, this one ended up being somewhat of a monster. It also, even though it starts at the beginning of HTTYD 1, follows the characters and plot of the second much more so. But, it also takes its time getting there.

And of good note: I have never read any of the books or watched any of the TV show. Everything I know about this series comes from the two movies and quick searches on the wiki page. So if something is erroneous, please let me know.

-Writing-

Unlike, with LAST (Lightning Always Strikes Twice) I will be writing this story in third person, which will hopefully make it calmer and more enjoyable. I personally loath stories written in first person, but wanted to try my hand at it in LAST.

However, I have many stories I am planning on writing and I am not sure if this will be my next focus after LAST, but with the popularity of HTTYD at the moment, I thought I would throw the idea out there to see if it sticks.

Finally, I write with no beta and have a somewhat clunky style that I am trying to smooth out. Because of this, I would greatly appreciate any reviews or comments you have about the story – they're so vivid in my mind that critical details are sometimes lost in the transition. Also, I do not obsess over rewrites and edits (I am doing this for free after all) and, therefore, there are bound to be errors. If you see one, or a dozen, please send me a pm and let me know where they are so I can correct them.

-Release Rate-

I'm not sure how fast I will release chapters for this story. Do not be surprised to see a more accelerated pace initially as I give the story a decent base to work off of. In the past, I have been a fan of releasing at a weekly pace. If this story becomes my next focus, weekly updates are a good guess.

-Picture-

The story image is a cropped and modified image from work done by skia on deviant art. To see the original work please use: skia . deviantart art / Young-Night-Fury-159298639 If you get the time you should definitely check out their work.

-Disclaimer-

I own nothing of How To Train Your Dragon or any of the associated rights. This work was done for enjoyment purposes only with no monetary value obtained in anyway. If anyone wished to use the ideas, including original characters or quotes, here within they are legally allowed to; no copyrights or protection exist for this story. Although, this author would greatly appreciate a nod if his ideas are used elsewhere.


	2. The Offspring of Lightning and Death

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 1: The Offspring of Lightning and Death

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Raven's Point was beautiful by Viking standards: thick, ambiguous, suffocating fog; sharp, eviscerating rocks; spiny, mace-like flowers; creatures with bone-crushing teeth, and that was only the nice part. It was a rapturous slice of Viking paradise.

Near the thickest part, a young man stood and played with a small rope in his hand. Not with the feverish excitement a child would but with contemplative disinterest as he fed it repetitively through his fingers. The curiosity was split apart as if something sharp had cut through it with extreme prejudice.

Hiccup, the teenage, blond-haired, green-eyed Viking sighed.

He was so sure that this would be the day: the day where the village would no longer hate him for being weak, the day when he could walk outside and hold his head high.

Because this was the day he would prove that he accomplished the impossible. Not only would he be the first Viking ever to see a Night Fury, but he would also be the only Viking to kill one.

The honor it would bestow made Hiccup salivate at the mouth and giggle like a young girl.

After all, in Berk, killing a dragon was everything. It would no longer matter that he was a frail, undersized worm of a Viking. No, he would be Hiccup, the slayer of night itself.

Hell, he might even get a date.

But there was one tiny problem. The previous night, when the dragons attacked Berk, Hiccup had used his bola launcher to entangle the Night Fury and watched the dark shape fall. And that's why Hiccup had trudged out today, stumbling through the forest in a delirious haze of excitement and curiosity dancing through his eyes.

He had found the bola. That was no problem: the row of downed, crumpled trees was a dead give away. Unfortunately, there was no squirming, black dragon in its captive embrace, just strands of shredded rope everywhere: in the trees, the rocks, and all over the ground.

With one more sigh, this time sounding a bit like a groan, Hiccup stood up and prepared to head back to Berk.

Like a crack of thunder, a loud blast rattled the small Viking's bones. Hiccup instinctively crouched down. His eyes careened, narrowed and alert, as he searched for the source. But the trees were quiet, and there were no black, nefarious clouds above– the sky was a mystifying, crystalline blue. The only disturbance to the serenity was the melodic trickling of a nearby creek.

A disturbed chuckle forced its way out of Hiccup's mouth as the adolescent Viking stood up and dusted his pants off. "Just what I need, something else to go wrong," the young man mumbled under his breath.

Nature answered with a scratching, tearing sound, far too loud to be some little critter.

Nervously yelping, Hiccup jumped back as if his foot had been burned.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, the sound ominously disappeared like a monster stalking its prey. Other than the trickling stream, the road was quiet once more.

Hiccup's gaze turned toward the left, just off the road, where the sound had originated. Trees edged the road: a green and brown spectacle of twisted twigs, branches, and roots.

The crunch of dried leafs and soft dirt beneath his boots drifted to his ears, as Hiccup took precautionary steps forward the edge of the road.

He stopped in front of a bush but could not see anything through its foliage; it was simply too thick. Hiccup leaned forward.

Suddenly, with the feeling of ants digging through his stomach, Hiccup felt something slip under his left foot. Hiccup let out a small cry of surprise and flailed his arms as he tried to find some semblance of balance. Unable to do so, He collapsed downward into the vegetation and started to slip down a slope, between and through an array of plants, leaves, loose soil and small grayish rocks.

With a sense of panic, Hiccup tried to kick something to slow and stop his decent, but his feet merely pushed the loose dirt and pebbles downward instead of himself upward. A small cloud of dust formed, and Hiccup reflexively pulled an arm to his mouth to quell an incoming sneeze. He slid on.

It wasn't until his boots came to a sloping splash that Hiccup found his movement arrested. He tried to stand, only for his feet to lose purchase. He fell face first into the liquid at the bottom of the hill with a startled and frustrated shout.

A coppery taste entered his mouth, and the small Viking quickly retracted his head from its watery hold. He quickly shook his head back and forth like a waterlogged dog causing small droplets and soaked leaves to fly every which way.

Taking a calming breath, Hiccup glanced down at the water he was resting in. Small streams of red and brown marred the murky surface like an unwelcome houseguest overstaying their welcome. His eyes followed the, alarmingly, large trails of red until they reached the corpse of something with short, off-white fur on the opposite bank, a few feet away.

It was then that Hiccup remembered he had a nose.

"Well, that's just convenient," he sarcastically said as he pinched his nose with one hand until it hurt. The smell was abhorrent.

Looking around, he noticed that the stream he was currently sitting in followed a narrow ravine – one with sharp, unstable slopes. The only reason the dirt and rocks hadn't come sliding down was due to the extremely thick vegetation that blocked not only the surroundings but also the sun and sky above.

Hiccup forced his irritated knees, which were itching all over due to the fall – a sensation that made him grit his teeth in annoyance – to straighten out and allow him to stand. Water slopped off his body in miniature waterfalls.

It was then that fate would make itself apparent, but not with a goddess or a tranquil sign of peace, but instead with a brutal, vociferous boom that shook the leaves off of their branches and disturbed the calm water with large ripples.

But before his brain could even analysis the sound, everything went black. Hiccup's body crinkled down as if he just took a blow to the head and came to rest in the middle of the creek. The water slowly rose against his prone form as it attempted to find a new way around.

For only a few minutes did Hiccup stay in his limbo-like state, but once everything came back, he could have sworn he collapsed only moments before. His head ached with a throbbing pulse that was worse than the time Snotlout hit him in the head with a rock, and his ears were ringing like someone had shouted directly into them for an hour.

With a spine-jarring shiver, he noticed his prone position. Confused, Hiccup went to stand, but pain attacked his body like an army of miniature Vikings.

"What in the name of Valhalla just happened?" Hiccup gasped out like a landlocked fish sputtering for water.

After a few minutes, the Viking managed to drag himself to his feet. He used a nearby tree to steady himself but noticed that the bark felt strange: instead of itching his hand like a hair brush it felt almost soft like ash.

Confused, Hiccup examined his surroundings. In a circle, approximately as wide as he was tall, everything from rocks to leaves were blackened as if the apocalypse had come early.

Hiccup ran his hands through his hair, which was standing up strangely. He tried to force it down, but it was a battle he was unable to win – the hair was not listening.

A sudden pain rattled his back, and Hiccup fell to his knees, his mouth open in shock. Some bile accompanied his gasp of pain and lightly flowed out of his mouth and down his chin.

Shaking his head lightly, Hiccup turned his attention to getting out of the ravine.

The pain that had attacked his back got worse, and Hiccup often found himself sliding down during his escape attempts from the small bursts of pain that rattled his body. Eventually, Hiccup managed to make it out and collapse on the hard dirt road like a dead man. Thankfully, his heaving chest was a point to the contrary.

With shaky breath, Hiccup forced himself to stand and take one meticulous step back toward Berk. Then another. His veins felt like they were liquid fire. Another step.

Only a few thousand to go.

Then, just as suddenly as the pain came, it passed. Not completely, the twinges of it were still present like little bug bites all over, but the sharpness, as if something was cutting into flesh, was gone.

Hiccup wasted no time. He ignored his quivering legs – like leaves in the wind – and forced his light gait to morph into a gentle job. The greens, browns, and grays of the environment shuffled through Hiccup's view as he fled toward Berk. He didn't fear tripping, nor did he fear the physical exertion, nor attack from wild animal.

He feared the pain would come back. Hiccup could feel its presence, like acid in his blood, biding its time.

Hiking through the forest went smoother than Hiccup could have ever hoped for. Berk was constructed on a cliff side and was as vertically inclined as it was horizontal. Traversing the narrow and perilous paths into Berk was mostly trivial if harrowing. Thankfully, his decent into Berk went without crisis. Hiccup was dreadfully worried about getting vertigo or collapsing while on the wooden bridges and ramps used to cross the hazardous terrain but found his concerns unjustified.

No one in the village bothered him. They were rushing around in a frenzy trying to fix the damage that last night's raid had caused. Small bits and pieces of everything were, well, everywhere: the legs of a chair on a roof; a door crushed by a rock; a bed in a tower. Any other time, it would have been slightly amusing. Now, though, Hiccup didn't even notice. Instead, he limped home with his hand on his stomach and his eyes closed as often as possible.

Right when he opened the front door to his house, Hiccup entertained the idea that maybe the worst was over.

That was a bad idea.

The pain came back with the ferociousness and aggressiveness of a hurricane and tore through his body with relentless assault. Hiccup whined in pain and forced his weakened, wobbling legs to make the last dozen steps through the house. It was like trying to move with noodles for legs. Every step Hiccup was sure they would crumple, and he would tumble to the floor.

If he fell, he was not getting up again.

Luckily, Hiccup soon reached his destination: the loft, his room. With a large gasp of relief, Hiccup collapsed onto the bed. Small clouds of paper and dust exploded into the air and calmly drifted back down.

Hiccup didn't care that it was midday. He didn't care that he should be working with Gobber. All he wanted was sleep. His back was killing him, his hands and feet were killing him, and his butt was killing him. Heck, even his head felt like it was melting off, and his jaw was aching so bad he kept instinctively rubbing it.

Hiccup felt his eyes close as he fell into a slumber.

_When his eyes fluttered open, the brown wood of his walls did not meet his gaze, nor did the white, wool sheets. All of that was gone. In fact, the house was gone, Berk was gone and the entire island was gone. Even the ocean was gone. Instead, as far as he could see, there was a white substance, like snow, blanketing everything._

_Baffled, the young man stood up. There was no pain in his neck, his arms, or his mouth; there was no pain anywhere._

_"You're lost, young man," a croaking, inhuman voice said beyond him._

_Quicker than the strike of a snake, Hiccup turned around. Nothing could have ever prepared him for the sight that met his eyes._

_At first, the only thing that he could see was the horse: a colossal horse that easily dwarfed him with an absolutely perfect sparkling gray coat. But, after a quick blink, Hiccup realized one problem with the steed; the beast had an additional set of legs for a grand total of eight. And if that wasn't strange enough, there was also a black feathered, large bird perched on its back. The bird had startling gray eyes that were so clear they appeared as if they could see into your very soul. And if that wasn't otherworldly enough, the two figure's outlines were hazy, wavering and shimmering like a mirage on a hot summer day._

_The horse nickered angrily._

_"Don't worry about Sleipnir, he's just antsy," the bird said with a light wave of its wing._

_Hiccup stared at the winged creature for a long time. Finally, he said, "I'm dead, aren't I?"_

_The bird let out a throaty series of croaking noises that sounded more like irritating caws than any type of laugh._

_"Dreaming then?" the boy tried._

_Gray eyes twinkled in amusement and the raven stated, "Something like that."_

_Before Hiccup could ask any more questions, the bird spoke once again, "You see that?" It used a wing to gesture straight up._

_Blinking, the young Viking turned his gaze skyward. A whirlwind of blacks and purples ominously swirled and twisted like some god was stirring the sky with a giant rod. Flashes of light hid behind the evil-looking sky and rumbles of thunder shook the soft creamy ground under Hiccup's feet. It didn't look like a cloud – it looked as if the entire sky was collapsing down in a slow, inevitable catastrophe._

_"The powers to be call that the fury of nights," the raven said. "If you see it a second time, you should fly and never look back."_

_Hiccup rolled his eyes and looked at what he figured was a figment of his imagination._

_"Sure, I'll just flap my 'wings' and soar like a bird," he told the annoying critter as he mimed flapping his own arms._

_Those skin-crawling caws cut into the air as the bird threw its beak back and chortled away. After it had settled down, it looked at Hiccup and said, "Oh, I think you'll find it far easier than that, but enough talk. It is time for you to leave this place. Pray that we never meet again."_

_Lightning broke through the blanket above and struck the ground. But Hiccup's eyes focused on the swirly sky as it latched onto the lightning and twirled downward like it was liquid draining into a hole. The black mass touched the ground and exploded in a great ball of white light that blinded all._

The crash of the front door roused Hiccup from his slumber. With a yelp, the sprawling young man rolled over and fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Try as he might, he couldn't remember his dream. There was something with a horse and a sky but even those recollections were shifting through his mind like water through his fingers.

Groaning, Hiccup forced himself to stand.

Apparently, whatever had infected him – some kind of disease or something – was recessive again. In fact, it was actually better than before. Instead of throbbing, his entire body was itchy. Some parts, such as his nose and shoulder blades, more so than others.

But all the things considered, he felt fantastic.

A quick glance out the window showed that he had slept for only a few hours. The brightness from the sun still resonated and embraced all within her loving gaze. It caused the roofs to twinkle, the grass to shine, and the ocean to wink as the light reflected off the cresting waves.

Thinking the worst was over, Hiccup slouched down the small staircase to see who was home. The young Viking just hoped it wasn't Stoick ready to chastise him for ditching work.

It took only a second for Hiccups hopes to get crushed. The man who entered the house – a rough, slightly dilapidated building that obviously missed a mother's touch and contained far too many dragon trophies and war paraphernalia – was none other than Stoick the Vast.

As his name described, Stoick, Hiccup's father, was a large man. His broad, muscular shoulders, massive triceps, and enormous biceps caused him to stand over almost every Viking. But it was his disposition that carried his real weight. He held himself as a leader: unwavering, confident, strong. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was the chief. His large brown fur cape, spiky helm and bushy mane of a beard only accented the image.

Stoick, as gaze hogging as he were, was not the only person to enter the house.

Another Viking, smaller overall than Stoick, but seemingly more balanced, accompanied him. On his head was a helm with large spikes that had much higher curvature than normal. He also tended to wear displeased scowls on his face ninety percent of the time, which, with his stubby beard and mustache, made him seem serious all the time.

The man was known as Spitelout Jorgenson.

Hiccup sighed loudly, and Spitelout threw a slicing glare at him. A glare that, only a second later, morphed into a gaze of surprise.

Stoick, seeing the look on his companion's face quickly turned, cloak fluttering.

"Hiccup!" Stoick said and rushed forward just in time to catch the young Viking as he collapsed.

The pain hadn't returned, but everything was beginning to slow down for Hiccup. He tried to move his limbs, but it was as if he were trudging through sand, everything was heavy and unresponsive.

"He's extremely pale, Stoick," Spitelout said as he approached in calm stride.

"What could've happened?" Stoick said in a quiet panic, his voice more lost and confused than a wolf at sea.

"Normally, I would say let him fight it off. Better that the strong survive. But," Spitelout said and pointed at Hiccup, "his fingernails have fallen off, his eyes are cloudy, blood is dripping out of his ears, and his hair is falling off in chunks." Spitelout rested his hand on Hiccups forehead. "No fever."

Stoick roared, "What in the blazes does that mean?"

"Do I look like a healer to you, Stoick?" Spitelout said and threw a glare of pure repulsion at the large chief. "I have no bloody clue what this is."

Hiccup paid the men little heed as his eyelids started to droop.

A tremendous cracking sound ripped through the house, bouncing off the walls in a strange and disturbing echo. Hiccup tried to scream as searing pain built up on the back of his shoulder blades as if someone were branding him with red-hot iron. But before he could get the sound out of his mouth, the oblivion of darkness took him once again.

It took only a dozen minutes for Hiccups conscience to wander back into the land of the living. When it did, Hiccup kept his eyes tight closed as his body shook off its lethargic hangover. The pain, the itching, all of it was gone and replaced by soreness throughout his body. Yet even with all that, he still felt strange in ways that he would have a hard time describing.

"Well, we know what was wrong now." Spitelout's voice reverberated in Hiccups skull, pounding on the walls like a drum.

Stoick's voice was no better – in fact, it was worse, "This is not funny, Spitelout."

"I'm not laughing, it was disturbing how fast it changed," Spitelout said with a steady voice. After a second of silence, where only the frenzied huffing of Stoick could be heard, he added, "So what do we do with it?"

Hiccup couldn't help but wonder why they were shouting. And man, when was the last time they took a bath. He knew Vikings cared little for hygiene, but those two smelt like a terrible combination of sweet, blood, iron and seawater. It was disgusting.

"Do you think Hiccup is still in there?" Stoick asked with a slight shake in his voice.

This time, when Spitelout spoke, there was an edge to his voice, as if something were trying to break out, "Well, it is tiny."

"Spitelout," Stoick growled.

Hiccup had enough; he opened his eyes and glanced up at the Vikings. They were blurry and hard to see but seemed to be standing directly over him.

"What are you guys talking about?" Hiccup asked. His raspy voice surprised him – the illness must have taken more out of him then he thought.

The two blurred shapes jerked back as if they smelt something reprehensible.

"It can talk?" Spitelout said with shock.

Stoick spoke at the same time, making Spitelout's words difficult to discern, "Impossible."

The air in the room came to a haunting stop as Hiccup's vision slowly cleared from blurred shapes to clear-cut humanoids.

"Hiccup?" Stoick asked with taut muscles like he was a cat getting ready to pounce.

Hiccup groaned and tried to rub his head. His hands felt strange like something was attached to the ends of his fingers, and for some reason he couldn't feel his thumb.

Stoick's eyes burned like dragon fire – fury waged war.

"Yeah?" Hiccup asked carefully as he tentatively peered up at his father.

Stoick's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened considerably. A murmur came from his mouth, "No, no, no." His mouth remained open and his lips quivered.

Hiccup tilted his head slightly to one side. "Why are you looking at me like I grew wings or something?"

It was then that Hiccup felt them. Something was on his back. Something large. His head turned back to study them with a concerned expression. Something leathery. Something Black. Something like wings. Something exactly like dragon wings.

And the scariest part? Hiccup could feel them like they had always been apart of him. He didn't even need to think hard to move them. They just reacted when he wanted them to just like his arm used to.

His arm!

Hiccups gaze shot to his arm and instead of a pink fleshy rod, a black, scaled appendage with razor-sharp claws met his inquiry.

With a terrified look at his father, who was watching with a little shake of his head, Hiccup flung his two front legs in front of him and waved them at his father like he was trying to ward him off. Too bad, that when he did so, his chin came crashing down on the ground because there was nothing to hold his body up.

"What's going on," Hiccup furiously muttered from the ground and hoisted himself to a sitting position.

Stoick threw a glare that would scare death itself at Hiccup.

But Hiccup wasn't watching his father; instead, he had turned his gaze to consider his own body. He was some black-scaled dragon. He had four legs and two massive, leathery wings that sprawled out on either side of him.

A small pitcher of water showed his face: short with a stubby nose at the end of his muzzle. Two floppy ears rested on his head and large, luminous, green eyes stared back curiously.

His gaze drifted to his tail where two small fins rested at the ends of them fanned out. Experimentally, Hiccup tried to move them. They twitched in response.

Altogether, he was probably about as long as Stoick was tall including the tail. The wingspan was larger than that and would dwarf any Viking. Still, his size was small when compared to most dragons.

He had never seen a dragon that looked like he did. But the black scales gave him only one idea.

"A Night Fury?" He asked no one in particular, but he failed to mask the wonder in his words. "Wha...what happened to me?" he asked as he turned to face his Dad.

"I was hoping that you could tell us," Stoick forced out through gritted teeth.

See his father's expression and the axe that was twitching in his right hand, Hiccup tried to retreat only to fall flat on his belly before he could go one step. Walking on four legs was not intuitive at all.

"Dad, I can explain," Hiccup quickly spurted out.

Hiccup tried to stand only for his legs to give out. He collided with the wood floor again. Suddenly, the dragon on the ground started to shiver and spasm with its head jarring every which way like a scared, cornered animal.

"Oh Odin," Hiccup said in a flurry, "I have wings and claws." Hiccup's eyes widened humorously and he gulped. "And a tail…."

The small, black dragon took a deep breath and felt the heat in his chest rise like he was going to spit. Rapidly shutting his mouth, Hiccup threw his front two legs over his muzzle and held it closed. He sheepishly pulled his wings and tail in closer to his body.

Releasing his grip, Hiccup chuckled, the sounds falling out of his mouth like ants into a river – hopelessness filling their every pore. Large, black ears shivered as they lay flat on the young dragons head; frightened green eyes and a quivering frown adorned the beast's muzzle with his legs sprawled out and forgotten like a lackadaisical fool. Light clicking sounds fought through the thick and smoky air as keen claws nervously tapped the wooden floor.

The Night Fury swallowed audibly.

With his best half-smile, Hiccup cautiously glanced up at the imposing Viking towering above him and mumbled out, "It was just a slight miscalculation."

Stoick's roar could be heard over the entire island.

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**Authors Notes:** Edited on November 29th, 2015


	3. Quite a Clawful

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 2: Quite a Clawful

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Stoick's voice was loud enough to shatter mountains. "What do you mean, miscalculated?" he roared, causing his trophies to shake sporadically on their shelves. "You planned this?"

Hiccup tried to make himself as small as possible: his wings folded in and his neck scrunched up to get his head as far away as possible from the looming figure of his father. He flattened his ears so much that they looked like a part of his head. Large, green eyes widened and focused solely on the Viking Chief.

"No!" the dragon sputtered out in a panic, "It was just, I mean…I don't know what happened." Like a dying animal, Hiccup's breath came out in overreacting, accelerating bursts.

Stoick took a step and stood over the dragon that was shaking more than a freezing man in winter.

"There was that sound, then I slipped and-" the dragon said in a high-pitched squeak.

With a crunch of wood, the axe in Stoick's hand came rushing down.

"Don't hurt me!" The dragon loudly pleaded and threw his front legs over his eyes.

With a massive thud, the metal of the axe imbedded itself into the wood in front of Hiccup's face. Lifting his limbs tentatively, Hiccup eyed the obtrusion with worry. The gray iron was separated from the handle of the weapon. Eyes tracing up, the Night Fury examined his father.

Stoick's knuckles were bone white and gripping a broken handle. The wood was splintered and cut into the giant Vikings hand in multiple places; little drips of red fell and splattered on the thirsty, dry wood.

With a slow, deep breath, Stoick turned and chucked the remains of the handle. It came to a clattering halt somewhere in the corner of the hut, hidden amidst various pieces of rubbish.

The voice the dragon used was begging, fast-paced and worried, "I never wanted this to happen; I didn't know it could happen."

Hiccup lurched forward and rested his left foreleg on the large man's boot. A quiet, anemic, "Please," fell from the dragon's muzzle as he laid his head on the ground and began to shake in noisy cries.

The room was mostly quiet. The light sobbing of the dragon was all that could be heard and cut into the ambience like sharp glass. Stoick just stared down at the quivering dragon hanging onto his feet as if it were a matter of life or death.

Without so much as a word, Stoick shook the dragon off his boot and approached Spitelout.

Hiccup was never the strongest Viking, but he still had his pride. He did not cry, because Vikings did not cry. Sure, every once in a while something got in his eye and made it seem like he was upset, but even that didn't happen too often. Regardless, he never bawled like a baby.

Yet, that's exactly what he was doing. He couldn't help it. He kept hoping that he would wake up and it would all be a bad dream. But every time he started to calm down, something would happen to remind him of the freak he was: air would run over his wings, or his tail would thump against the ground, or his claws would scratch the wood floor.

Stoick and Spitelout argued passionately. At one point, Stoick even raised an axe and bellowed furiously into the cool evening – his harsh words a startling contrast to the tranquil air. If they hadn't been scared off years ago, the neighborly birds would definitely have used it as a reason to vacate the area.

Caught in his own personal gordian knot, Hiccup didn't listen to their conversation even though he easily could have with his astute hearing. It was as if the words flowed into one ear and out the other, their presence never registered and long forgotten.

The conversation between the two Vikings droned on for an alarmingly long while, before, without warning and a satisfied smirk, Spitelout turned on heel and marched out the door. The door closed with a resounding crack as the wood splintered around the handle. Stoick growled. A wooden cup, grasped tightly in trembling knuckles, dented and groaned under the suffocating pressure.

Hiccup finally managed to get his breathing under control. Instead of voluminous, hasty, panicky breathing that asphyxiated him, the rise and fall of his scaly chest became slower and more controlled.

Under Hiccups sharp claws, the dust vibrated as thunderous steps shook them from their resting places. The steps came to a pause next to the Night Fury's face.

Green eyes opened, fear and uncertainty a close companion, and glanced at the leathery boots in front of them. The leather frayed off at points and small patches extended their lifeline, yet they didn't appear on the edges of death; instead, they simply appeared well-worn like a lively old man.

Hiccup didn't even have time to look up before his father's voice destroyed any confidence like a burst of cannon fire.

"Come."

It was never good when Stoick spoke in one or two words. He was not a man who dealt well with anger or disappointment – although, with Hiccup, those two seemed to walk hand in hand. Or maybe claw in claw now.

It would have been easy to follow his fathers stomping stride out the front door if he were still human.

Unless this…condition could be reversed, he would never walk like that again.

A tear appeared on the side of his eye. Hiccup ignored it.

The dragon on the floor swallowed his saliva. Then, with gritted teeth, the fire-breathing Hiccup came to a shaky stand on his four legs, quivering and shaking like a collapsing hut. As soon as he raised one claw to attempt a step, the rest of them gave out, and he came crashing down on his soft belly. Long, white marks appeared on the wood where his claws had slid.

Once more, the four-legged creature tried to stand on his own. Again, he failed.

Dust and wood started to rattle under Hiccup's claws as the marching footsteps of Stoick approached once more. The large man stopped right next to the sprawled out dragon.

Stoick muttered something that suspiciously sounded like, "Useless," and reached down. His warm fingers came down and gripped the scaly dragon in the mid section. Without so much as a warning, the large Viking stood up straight and lifted his query with him.

"Dad, what are you doing?" the dragon yelped in a high pitch. Like organic spears, four little limbs, with sharp claws attached, floundered about.

The pressure on Hiccups chest increased, but it was Stoick's words that caused the flailing legs to freeze mid-motion, "I can declaw you."

Yet again, Stoick marched out of the house, this time carrying a limp dragon in his grasp like it was an oversized pet. Still, even with the chief's impressive height, Hiccup's tail dragged between his legs, sliding along the ground and making a slithering, snake-like sound.

With stealth Hiccup never knew his father possessed, Stoick slinked around the edge of the house to reach the back.

Behind their house, in large part due to Gobber, was a crazy assortment of metal objects. Used once and forgotten, they collected behind Stoick's house like a graveyard. After all, Gobber wanted to dispose of the evidence and Stoick couldn't care less. It was, once upon a time, a favorite play place of Hiccups – a jungle of iron, steel and copper.

Stoick approached a rectangular object that came up to his waist. The floor and roof were imposing gray weathered steel, and three of the sides contained bars that had about two inches of separation between them. The last wall not only had the same bars, but also the outline of a door and a very imposing old, iron lock that seemed to wink deviously at the wide-eyed dragon. One of the dimensions was far longer than the other making the cage look a bit like a tunnel.

Stoick dropped his passenger on the ground, who landed with a plop and a terrified shriek and swung open the door. The old metal squeaked in protest.

"Get in." The chief's voice was unwavering and devoid of any emotion.

Green eyes fearfully eyed the enclosure, which was barely large enough for him, and gulped. His breathing and pulse accelerated.

"Why?" Hiccup would be lying if he said he kept the tremble out of his voice.

"Because, as a human, you burned down our house three times, demolished six boats, two towers, and nearly destroyed the Mead Hall, which has stood for centuries. As a dragon, I honestly fear what you are accidentally capable of. Get in the cage. Now."

Stoick voice rang in Hiccups head with absolute conviction like a jailor announcing a life sentence. With drooping ears and wings, the human-turned-dragon used his claws to crawl into the confinement. The fit was not as tight as he feared it would be, but that didn't mean it was roomy. He could kneel down like a dog and his head only scrapped the ceiling – a benefit of being only three feet tall in such a position. His wings, on the other claw, had to remain completely folded and pressed up against the bars of his prison. He also had to curl his tail around his body – a detraction of being almost seven feet long. It was a posture that, with any matter of time, would be very uncomfortable.

The failing light of the day disappeared altogether as Stoick threw something over the cage; it looked like an old ships sail but was far too malleable – most likely some type of brown cloth or blanket. Hiccup reached out to tried to feel the material. Unfortunately, the bars were dense enough that he could only fit the tips of his claws in-between them.

With a strange sense of vertigo, Hiccup yapped cutely as his cage was lifted off the ground.

"Where are we going?" he asked with a stutter.

Hiccup closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sway of his father steps. It was just like being on a boat.

Stoick said, "I'm not about to show you in front of the village. Not before we explain what happened and discuss your fate."

Long ears tried to stand at attention, but ran into the ceiling. Cold, impassive iron stopped his wings causing Hiccup to wince as he instinctively tried to unfold them.

"My fate? What does that mean!" Hiccup said with a cross between paralyzing dread and impudent annoyance.

"That's for the village to decide." It was the first time Hiccup was able to detect anything in Stoick's voice: there was uncertainty and fear of his own hidden deep below the surface.

Hiccup just needed a shovel to dig it up. Too bad using one would be difficult with his current biological makeup.

Still he tried, "But you're the chief! Can't you just veto it?"

Silence reigned for a few minutes. Hiccup closed his eyes as the sway of the cage briefly got to him. Eventually, a more resigned and collected Stoick answered, "I have this feeling. This quivering, like butterflies in my chest. At first, I was sure it was just nerves, but now…." Stoick rapidly shook his head back and forth. "I want to believe but," the chief struggled to find words, "look at you!" he exclaimed.

"Dad, I'm still me, I swear. I swear to Mom." Hiccup subconsciously rubbed a small, linear scar under his muzzle with a claw. "Please, trust me."

Heavy breathing was the only thing that answered. After all, Hiccup probably weighed about half as much as Stoick or maybe even more and with the cage, it was a heavy burden. Honestly even with Stoick's fortitude, the manner in which he was carrying Hiccup was an impressive display of strength.

After a moment, the dragon's father started to speak as a leader with a domineering accent. It made his words seem tight and almost cruel.

"While I deal with the village you are to stay out of sight. Spitelout's son will be making sure you don't get any ideas – or other miscalculations – until we decide your fate."

Hiccup's entire body tensed and he banged his head on the roof of the cage. Wincing and trying to rub the top of his head – his front limbs couldn't bend right in their confinement – Hiccup complained, "Snotlout! No, anyone but him."

With the sharpness that only a parent could have, Stoick quickly snapped, "Quiet! No more whining."

Instead, Hiccup decided to sigh, quite loudly.

It took only a few minutes for them to reach their destination. Stoick had grown quite tense when they had to traverse through a crowded area, but thankfully, his serious expression deterred any distractions and they made it through without a fuss. Hiccup had kept his muzzle sealed tight, part due to a threat from his father and part because his newfound condition was embarrassing.

There was the squeak of an old door and the battering of powerful steps on wood. Then, with a thud, Stoick set the cage down and immediately the footsteps retreated and disappeared from Hiccup's hearing. The door clattered shut.

The darkness in Hiccup's cage was absolute and left the small Night Fury anxious. Hiccup needed not wait long. Suddenly, the cloth over his cage was flung away, and light flooded in like an overflowing stream.

He was in a large wooden house. It was quite similar to his own, but contained, a feat that Hiccup was sure was impossible, even more dragon trophies. There were skulls, claws and even eyeballs. It made the Night Fury squirm a bit. Two oak doors bordered the room along with three different windows. There was also, if the smoky smell was to go by, a fire just out of Hiccup's sight.

A short, brown-haired Viking stood in front of him with brown, weathered material tightly gripped in his right hand. He had a piggy nose, chubby cheeks and blue eyes. His bulky arms were massive and almost as large as his legs. The young teenager in question was wearing a leather vest, a large belt with a carved face and woolen trousers. Hiccup, if fully standing on four legs would have reached his upper chest.

His name was Snotlout Jorgenson, cousin and not quite best friend of Hiccup.

Blue eyes narrowed as they examined the Night Fury in question; slightly yellow teeth chewed on dirt-caked lips.

With a timid smile, Hiccup nervously raised his right paw and gave a halfhearted wave at his longtime rival.

"Uh, Hi?"

Snotlout's gaze grew wide-eyed and he appeared to be trying to keep his lips closed. They started to quiver like waves in the ocean before the large boy let out of a burst of laughter and fell down on his butt. He used a pudgy arm to wipe tears from his eyes as he guffawed vehemently.

The Night Fury's long ears flattened on his head and his large, luminous eyes narrowed slightly.

"I fail to see what's so funny." Hiccup stated.

Snotlout, who was now banging the ground with his fist, managed to get out a comment between lulls in his mirth, "Only you could fail so hard."

Suddenly, a sound cut through the evening air like a well-maintained axe through the neck of a dragon. Hiccup, once again, thumped his head against the roof of his cage.

The sound was the long drawl of a horn, a very specific horn. The pitch was not as low as a war call, nor as high as a message of hope. It was right in the middle – a call for a village meeting.

Hiccup slouched down in his cage, trembling like a scorned dog. "Oh Odin, I'm screwed," he said hopelessly.

Snotlout stood up, still wiping residual tears from his eyes and cheeks, and said, "Look at the bright side, at least you have claws and teeth. You actually look pretty cool." The Viking shrugged. "Still, a scrawny loser though, I doubt a normal dragon of your kind, whatever that is, would be so puny. Just goes to show you can't fix weak."

And with that, Snotlout hit his thigh with an arm and gave a chortle of laughter.

Hiccup stared at his cousin with a long and slightly tilted face.

Snotlout, still smiling, rubbed his chin. After a brief moment, his eyes lit up. "Maybe I can get dad to give me your pelt after they skin you," he muttered lightly, contemplatively.

Like it was doused in water, Hiccup's heart skipped a beat. His muscles tensed and his wings banged against the cage as he reflectively tried to open them. The collision caused Hiccup to flinch.

"Yeah, I'm sure a pelt of scales would work great," Hiccup said and ignored the light throbbing in his left wing.

A scholarly intellectual, Snotlout replied with an elegant, "Huh?"

Silence took control of the reins for a moment before Hiccup swiped them back.

"You really are as dumb as you look," he said flatly.

With both voice and the cracking of knuckles, the reply was almost instantaneous, "What was that?" Snotlout growled and picked up a nearby axe. The metal seemed to gleam in the waning sunlight.

Apprehensively watching the manicured iron with shifty, green eyes, Hiccup instinctively pushed against the back iron bars.

"Nothing cousin, just muttering to myself," the dragon murmured softly.

"That's right you are," Snotlout said and hit the cage with the edge of his axe. "Even with your claws, teeth and pointy ends, I can still smash your face in."

Ears ringing like someone rang a gong right in his face; Hiccup closed his eyes and rapidly shook his head back and forth.

Snotlout with a cheeky, satisfied grin on his face began to hum a harsh tune and strut away from the dragon with a minute skip in his step. He disappeared through a nearby doorway.

Feeling like a trapped bird, Hiccup's green eyes turned to a nearby window and he, as best he could, watched the sunlight disappear beyond the horizon – the yellows and reds mixed and morphed like the sky was the canvas of a four year old child who had just discovered paint.

A shiver went down the black dragon's spine and he tried to shake it out, but, in his mind, he kept wondering: would this be the last sunset he ever saw?

That rickety humming came back as Snotlout reentered the room; the old, wooden door banged loudly.

In his fist was a large, juicy, delicious-looking drumstick. Small, stringy pieces of chicken hung from his mouth as Snotlout, with the ferociousness of a wolf, attacked the meal vigorously.

Hiccup swallowed, and his stomach loudly complained with an irritating rumble.

Pausing mid-bite, the teenage Viking looked over at the cage and blinked.

The black dragon's muzzle smiled wistfully.

"I'm hungry too," Hiccup said with a slight chuckle and downward turned eyes.

"That sucks for you."

Like he was a cute, gigantic house cat, Hiccup gave out a small roar of annoyance, it just, much to his displeasure, came out more like a low-toned meow.

"Oh, come on," he said, "give me something. Please?"

Rolling the drumstick casually around his fingers, Snotlout asked, "And what's in it for me?"

With a dash of inspiration, Hiccup didn't say anything. Instead, he made sure to droop his wings, gently shake his tail, flatten his ears and watch his cousin with extremely wide, grief-stricken eyes.

Snotlout paused. But after a moment of fidgeting in place he threw a nasty glare at the adorable black dragon.

"Damn you, Hiccup." He growled. Throwing his hand up in frustration, he continued, "Fine, I'll find something for you to gnaw on."

As Snotlout stomped away and slammed the door open, Hiccup caught one last statement coming from his mouth, "The Village is probably going to execute you, so I guess it can be your last meal."

A shiver ran all the way from his muzzle to the tip of his tail.

"You really know how to take the fun out of everything, you know that?" Hiccup called out to the retreating Viking.

When he came back, Snotlout marched up to the edge of the cage with a pale fish that was about as long as his arm. It would never fit between the bars. Snotlout, however, had other ideas. He brought his axe down on the fish and cut a long, thin strip of flesh and, without a single word, threw the salty and slightly bloody smelling fish into the cage. It landed on Hiccups nose.

Two tantalizing green orbs went cross-eyed as they examined the long, white piece of meat. The dragon sniffed loudly and a look of disgust appeared on his face.

"I'm not eating this," Hiccup declared.

Snotlout blinked. "What, Why?"

"It's raw," Hiccup said as he swatted the fish off his nose.

"Dragons eat things raw," Snotlout said slowly with a cocked eyebrow.

Hiccup growled and showed his white teeth. "I'm not a dragon! Besides, how do you know they don't cook 'em up real quick with their fire or something."

Blue eyes rolled in their sockets and Snotlout furiously grumbled. After a moment, he glanced at Hiccup and with a smirk asked, "Well, then why don't you cook the fish with yours?"

"My what?" Hiccup asked with a light snarl. The next second, the aggression was gone as Hiccup blinked and gingerly stated, "Fire breath? I don't know how."

Joyous and loud, Snotlout's chuckle rode through the air.

"You really are worthless," the Viking said.

"You're just," Hiccup struggled to find words and eventually settled on, "blarg!" The dragon jumped a bit in his cage and hit his head with a clang.

"Just try the stupid fish, you wimp."

Once again attempting to rub the top of his irritated head, the Night Fury watched the strip of meat with one eye.

Finally, his stomach gave a tremendous, noisy objection and Hiccup sighed. With overly careful deliberation, his muzzle reached down and picked up the seafood. Like a piece of pasta, Hiccup slurped it up.

At first it wasn't too bad, tasting mostly of salt and light, creamy meat, but then it hit like a club of rocks. It slid down his throat and felt as if it were wiggling, squirming, fighting to get free.

Hiccup gagged and his stomach lurched painfully. The fish came up to the top of his throat but immediately started to slide down again like a kid stuck in a wet ditch. It was literally the most revolting thing Hiccup could remember.

"You poisoned me!" he shouted in between coughs. "Get it out, get it out!" The dragon squealed and rocked its cage as black paws swiped at a rough pink tongue. "I'm dying," Hiccup sputtered and collapsed, as much as the cage allowed him to, onto the floor.

With a narrow long rod, Snotlout poked the body of the dragon whose chest was laboriously moving up and down in periodic waves. The dragon groaned.

"And I though dragons were supposed to be somewhat tough," Snotlout mused.

"I'm not a dragon!" Hiccup shouted, his voice slightly muffled by his posture on the ground.

"Uh huh," was Snotlout's response, but his eyes weren't watching just as his ears weren't listening.

Hiccup quickly pointed a claw at his contemplative cousin. "Don't you, of all people, get smart with me!"

A wicked smile grew on Snotlout's face like a parasitic plant. Snotlout opened his mouth, but before he could get any words out, the door to the room exploded open causing Hiccup to, yet again, bang his head on the ceiling of the cage.

Stoick entered the room, his steps making the very ground quake, and headed for his son. Without so much as a word, he grabbed the nearby cloth and tossed it back over the top of the cage. Just as last time, Hiccup's world plunged into darkness.

"Dad?" Hiccup tentatively asked.

"It's time, the rest of the village wants to see you."

With a miniscule grunt of exertion, Stoick picked up the cage and started to head out the door.

After a few minutes, Hiccup found his voice once more. "What's going to happen?" he asked quietly, lightly stumbling over his words.

His father didn't respond.

There was a smell in the air that was blooming: full of foul sweat; bloodstained iron; smoky fire; old, damp wood; and scrumptious meat. The concatenation was strange and caused Hiccup's nose to wrinkle.

The scent grew stronger still until it became almost overpowering and Stoick came to a sudden pause.

If Hiccup could have seen out of the shielded enclosure, he would have been able to see the incredibly intricate doors in front of them. The shapely wood was carved to include a myriad of symbols from the sun to weapons to the slaying of a dragon. But while Hiccup couldn't see it, he could hear it open – a long, creaky sound that emanated power and wisdom. Inside, he could hear what sounded like buzzing bees. The chatter was so murmured and slurred that he couldn't make out a single word or identify any one speaker.

In a short time, this group of Vikings, a people who detested fire-breathing, flying lizards more than mosquitoes and hot muggy days combined, would decide the future of the small human-turned-dragon.

With no acknowledgement of his son, Stoick took a steadying breath, tore the cloth off his cage, and took a step inside.

The small Night Fury closed his eyes, shaking like a tree in a hurricane and audibly gulped.

* * *

**Author Notes:** Hiccup is about half the size of Toothless and a fourth of the weight. Also, Snotlout needed no convincing that the dragon was Hiccup for a few reasons: mostly, the dragon still acts and talks just like him; and children are much more open to crazy ideas than adults who are locked in their ways and beliefs. As for whether the rest of the village will think the same we will have to wait and see. Stoick has his doubts but subconsciously still treats Hiccup much the same. After all, Hiccup is not exactly acting like a dragon would and then there is the whole talking thing...

Edited on November 29th, 2015


	4. That Sinking Feeling

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 3: That Sinking Feeling

* * *

The Mead Hall was not supposed to be a disturbing place. It was supposed to be a place of cheer, good drink and enthusiastic war stories. Right not, it was not acting as advertised.

Hiccup cringed as his cage was pulled into the slightly dark, sacred hall. A fire raged in the center with its smoke creating a thick plume that rose up into the air and escaped through a hole in the roof.

All around the area were Vikings: some tall, some short, some male, some female, all menacing. But Hiccup wasn't watching them. Instead, his large, green eyes focused on the hall itself and its intricate decorations. The carvings depicted various themes, but most popular by far was the dragon. Not as a nice, cute animal, the dragon symbolized brutality both in the way it terrorized its victims and the vivid, representations of its crushing defeats. Before, Hiccup had no problem with a small, triumphant figure ripping out the throat of a dragon and roaring to the world. Now, with his current predicament, it felt a tad disturbing.

Rapidly shaking his head, Hiccup cleared his mind and then, with a smile, looked around the room. All manners of green, red and blue eyes watched him like demented stars.

With a crash, Stoick dropped Hiccup's cage on the floor in front of the fire. The great man then joined Spitelout and a large, one-armed, one-legged man called Gobber.

The room's silence was suffocating. Hiccup tried to slink back in his cage and melt into the floor. His ears drooped and he turned his gaze away from the staring, murderous eyes surrounding him. Subconsciously, a large scaly tail nervously tapped the ground in an unrecognizable melody.

Stoick's voice shattered the ambiance like a dragon's roar at midnight. "As we told you, Hiccup is now a dragon."

All at once, the room exploded in shouts and furious muttering. But shockingly enough, Stoick, with an impassive face, did nothing to quell the increasing rabble. However, the man needed not do anything.

Hiccup, momentarily forgetting his nerves, yelled, "I'm not a dragon!"

Like someone had uttered the dirtiest curse known to man, the room plunged into dead silence. Open-mouthed Vikings, some of them with a twinkle of curiosity in their eyes, watched the squirming black dragon in front of them.

It lasted only a second before the room once again embraced chaos.

"It talks?"

"Impossible."

"Just what did you do, Stoick?"

But, loudest of all, screeching like a bird with ruffled feathers was a female Viking named Brynhilda. When she was young, a Deadly Nadder attacked and poisoned her. Brynhilda, for whatever reason, was not affected by the toxin. Even since then, she had been immune even though no on knew how or why. She, being the obsessive believer she were, claimed it was a gift from the gods for good faith.

"This is why I tell my children to beware Muninn," Brynhilda said with her sprawling, low-pitched drawl. "Odin's wrath will be great to those who are unworthy or insult him."

"I haven't seen a raven for weeks," Hiccup said with a confused expression.

Brynhilda rounded on the black dragon with the wrath of a Valkyrie, "They're black as night," she bellowed – rumbling Hiccup's ears, "how do you know they didn't see you once the sun died?"

Using a claw to massage his ears, Hiccup eyed the massive, huffing woman with annoyance. He then sighed, his hot breath warming the cold steel in front of him.

"Well," Hiccup started carefully, "Huginn and Muninn both set out in the morning and watch the affairs of the world, right? So that would mean they return to Odin, every night, to inform him of their discoveries. So tell me, how could they have seen me at night if they were with Odin?"

The black dragon tossed the Viking a smile full of white teeth.

Brynhilda face turned purple in rage. Her eruption caused the fire in the room to flicker lightly. "You impudent child! Why, I have never seen such a twisted tongue – they don't report every night – to claim such is foolhardy to the extreme. You deserve this ailment. Beware, lest Odin take your voice too. Just because he offered that mercy doesn't mean he can't snatch it away."

A smaller, muscular man who reminded Hiccup of a rock forced his seething wife into a seat. Before her large, flabby bun could strike the poor wooden chair under her, the voices started their muttering again.

It was like a series of really vicious crickets – the chirping was harrowing and dangerous. A feeling of sickening unease wormed its way into Hiccups throat; swallowing did nothing to quell the discomfort.

Finally, one voice rose above the others, "I don't get it, why can the dragon speak?"

"I'm not a dragon!" Hiccup roared as his body tightened like it was wound around a spoke. "How many times do I have to say it?"

The same dry, boring voice drifted through the stuffy hall. "A lot more or my eyes are failing me completely. Tell me, are those scales?"

Various murmurs of agreement rose out of the crowd.

Hiccup did not like some of the looks he was getting; some of them, specifically, on his left side, had a glint of excitement – not the kind of excitement from a present or a birthday, but the kind that only shows its face right before battle: exhilaration and bloodlust.

His tail started to thump against the steel bottom of the cage. A brief sigh, a moment to collect his breath and Hiccup started to speak as loud and clear as his nervous stutter would allow. "We all know that dragons are blood thirsty monsters that always go for the kill. Right?" No one answered, but they all watched intently. "That's undisputable fact. And I've sat here all nice and calm. How can I be a dragon?"

The hair-raising chatter arose again, but before it became deafening, Hiccup continued on his tirade, "I'm wearing a different skin, but I'm still the same person underneath, just with wings, and fangs, and a tail, and fire breath, and," Hiccup raised a claw and scratched at his chin, "you know what, forget I said that."

A slow clap started from right in front of Hiccup. Like a dog, his ears perked up, promptly obstructed by the roof of the cage, and the dragon looked toward the noise with a narrow frown.

Two scared hands made slow, dramatic motion that danced in the firelight. Their owner, Spitelout smiled. For Hiccup, who was a bit of a failure in the second in command's eyes, it almost assuredly meant trouble.

In a display of unwavering confidence, the man's hands rose into the air. Everyone's eyes watched as the fingers intervened like woven cloth and came to a stop on the man's head.

"And the kid answers what I have said all along." Spitelout said, "He's most certainly Hiccup. Only a fool would think otherwise."

Hiccup's jaw practically hit the floor in flabbergasted astonishment. Spitelout never defended him. It was like a nice dragon, it just didn't happen….

"Of course, it's still Hiccup! He is being punished for-" Brynhilda screeched. Thankfully, everyone ignored her.

Hiccup rolled his eyes. With light methodic clangs, his claws started to tap the bottom of his cage: he was getting so sick of confinement. His wings were roaring complaints all over, but the pain was especially bad just above his shoulder blades; he needed to stretch them badly.

And the smoke; Hiccup scrunched up his face and rapidly rubbed the tip of his snout. The smell was atrocious not just from the fire and smoke – which was conveniently drifting into his cage – but from the Vikings in the area. It was a swimming cesspool of disgusting smells. At this rate, Hiccup was sure the scents were mating with one another and creating revolting offspring. The dragon trembled.

Having a nose this strong was not a perk, whatsoever, in Hiccups esteemed opinion.

A different voice, feminine for a Viking but still harsh and craggy, attracted the Night Fury's attention.

"Okay, let's say, for just a second, that the dragon is Hiccup both in body and mind. Well how in Thor's name did this happen?"

Stoick, for the first time since Hiccup arrived, weighed in, "I'd like to know that myself."

Hundreds of expectant eyes glared down at the cage.

"I don't know!" Hiccup furiously exclaimed, "I shot down that Night Fury last night-"

The entire room erupted into laughter. It was as if someone cut the tense atmosphere of the room with an enormous sword. Even Vikings, who before were watching with narrowed, devious glares, now shook their heads, rolled their eyes, and chuckled loudly. Hiccup even observed a few Vikings face palm.

"It's true, I DID," Hiccup shouted at them all. "Then, when I went to find it this morning it was gone."

The guffaws of the room increased.

"Fancy that," Stoick said as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"It's not funny," Hiccup pouted. His wings, as much as they could, drooped and his ears fell down across his head. Even his tail, which was still tapping out some unrecognizable melody, stopped and seemed to slouch down.

Stoick elevated his right arm and spoke without raising his voice even a smidgen, "Enough." The room quieted almost immediately, but there were still a few snorts here and there. Finally, after the room settled completely, Stoick gestured to the fuming dragon, "Continue"

"Well, I was out near Ravens Point and there was this noise, so I decided to check it out. But the slope was unstable and I went plummeting into this ravine. There was blood in the water from a sheep or something with fur, and then, I blacked out. Afterwards, the entire area was charred black like something burnt it. It was then that the pain first struck."

"Pain?" someone asked.

Hiccup peered toward his right to identify the speaker but was unable to. He continued, "Yeah, worst I have ever felt – all over, like my body was submerged in it. Somehow I manage to make it home where I collapsed. I woke up when Dad and Spitelout came in and went down to see them. The pain returned and I blacked out again. When I woke, I was like this."

Disturbed murmurs ran through the room in an amalgamated mess of noise that sounded a bit like a sea of bees.

Spitelout, over the buzzing, said with steadfast conviction, "The transformation was quite disturbing; I'd rather not get into it, honestly." But, unlike his voice, his body shivered lightly as if he were cold.

A voice from the left called out – this time Hiccup was able to see whom: a man with a stubby mustache and long triangle-shaped beard. The beard was quivering as the man spoke.

"Sounds like the kid got struck by lightning," he said "it comes so fast that it can knock you on your butt before you even know it got ya. Did you know that I have a cousin that has been hit six times? I'm so jealous; I've always wanted to get hit by lightning." A glossy look appeared in the man's gray eyes as he drifted off in a fantasy.

"But there were no clouds." Hiccup tried to say but everyone else overpowered his comment.

"Aren't Night Furies supposed to be the offspring of lightning and death?" Someone asked.

Brynhilda waved her large arms and stood up. The wood creaked under the mammoth of a woman. "That's just stupid rhetoric – it's the gods that are punishing him," she spoke as if she were educating a child.

Hiccup couldn't help it. His mouth moved off its own intention. It wasn't really his fault. Brynhilda had always been against him; while most of the village ignored him, she went out of her way to complain, usually to Stoick, about what an abomination he was. Hiccup was sure it was because her own children were nearly as unimpressive as him. Needless to say, when he told her such, she had doubled her efforts.

"Well, you claimed that my predicament was due to Odin," Hiccup said with a toothy smile and sarcastic cheer, "but if I got struck by lightning wouldn't that mean Thor was my benefactor? And with the death thing, maybe Hel or Freyja joined in too?"

Spitelout laughed. He, despite all of their differences, shared Hiccups settlements when it came to the loud, obnoxious women.

"Why you little-" she pushed her way through the crowd and approached the trapped dragon.

Hiccup, despite the situation, retaliated. "Does that make them my second set of parents?"

Those that knew Hiccup sighed and rubbed their foreheads; everyone else watched the dragon with a peculiar expression that Hiccup couldn't read. Brynhilda's expression, however, was easily decipherable: eyes bulging, veins throbbing, hair frazzled, and snorting like a bull, she looked perfectly capable of skinning small, helpless dragons. The knife in her hand accented the feeling dramatically.

"I'm joking!" Hiccup said desperately as if just remembering where he was and why.

Brynhilda stomped toward Hiccup brandishing her weapon.

"Brynhilda, put the knife down," Stoick said with his head in his hands, not even watching the events unfold in front of him.

The large woman huffed and Hiccup swore he saw steam come from her nose. For a second, he wondered if he should ask her for fire-breathing lessons.

She rounded on Stoick and pointed her weapon at him while she spoke, "You should have paid more attention to my warnings about your son, Stoick! Now the God's wrath have struck, and both of you are suffering the consequences."

"Now wait a second, how do we know Night Furies aren't made from lightning and death?" someone asked.

Brynhilda threw her head back and laughed maniacally.

"What?" the man, known as Bloodeyes, said with an angry glare, "We know next to nothing about them. How do we even know he is a Night Fury? It's not like anyone has seen one."

Gobber, a good friend of Stock, replied with sarcasm that bit so hard it left teeth marks, "We could always go ask the one that attacks all the time. Who knows, maybe it can talk too."

With deadly, disturbing calm like the eye of a hurricane, Stoick claimed, "He's a Night Fury."

"I'm not arguing with you Chief, it just seems so strange." Bloodeyes rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "We have never seen one before and Hiccup just happens to turn into one. Seems like a crazy coincidence."

"It's not a coincidence, the Gods-"

Spitelout, in no mood to listen to the woman start another tirade, quickly established dominance in the conversation. He said, "How they're born isn't important. What is important is if he is a dragon mentally. And unless Night Furies are unlike any dragon I have every meant, I would wager that Hiccup still thinks like a man.

Yet another voice rose up through the hall, "Hold up, how do we know this…thing isn't just pullin' our legs. I don't believe, not even for a second, that it's Hiccup."

Quite a few shouts of agreement echoed the man's sentiments.

With a roll of his eyes and a frustrated growl, Spitelout stated, quite simply, "Fine, I'll show you."

Hiccup watched tentatively as the Viking approached his cage. As he advanced, Spitelout pulled out a spear with a small flurrying twirl. The light from the fire glinted and reflected off of the sharp point in a menacing wink.

Then, without so much as a warning, Spitelout stabbed the spear, angled downward, through the bars of the cage. A massive clang rang through Hiccup's astute ears as the metal weapon thrust into the iron under his paws. The spear missed but only barely. Eyes widening, Hiccup threw himself backward as much as he could – his wings crinkled painfully against the bars and his tail got tangled, but he didn't even notice. The only thing on his mind was getting as far from that spear as possible.

"No dragon would be terrified in such a way," Spitelout said dryly. "They only think of death."

With a light grimace of teeth, Spitelout yanked at the spear. It came free with a scratchy, irritating pang. Not even a second later did the spear come down again, but this time it found its target. The rusted, archaic lock fell to the ground and landed on the wood with a thud.

The gate, in a mocking, teasing way, opened slowly with an ear-shattering creak. Hiccup winced painfully, but kept his eyes locked on the spear. He did notice Spitelout wave his hand as if gesturing him to come out, but his mind lagged behind and it took him a minute to process the action.

Hiccup threw one more terrified glance at the spear and thought about refusing to come out, but quickly refuted that idea when he realized that, with the door open, stabbing him would be trivial for someone as skilled as Spitelout.

With a dramatic groan, the dragon attempted to take a step out of the cage. Well, the first few weren't too bad as he still had the cage to lean on, but as soon as he was clear his quivering legs gave out and he fell to the ground with a grunt of annoyance.

Spitelout's eyes shined with elitist embellish as he looked down at the small Night Fury. He turned, looked at the crowd and said, "He can't even walk because he retained his human instincts."

The crowd's argumentative whispers broke out again, but seemed less hostile overall.

"And if that's still not enough to convince you," he growled out. Then, with the chill-inducing, blood-freezing, smirk of an egotistical maniac, Spitelout walked up to a female Viking nearby. He whispered into her ear.

At first, she seemed confused, if her pointed eyebrows and shifty eyes were anything to go by, but then a similarly diabolical smirk arose on her face and caused her eyes to start twinkling. With his excellent hearing, Hiccup could make out something about walking and slashing.

Both sounded superiorly dreadful. Hiccup gulped loudly. But he did take the time to attempt to unfold his massive wings. He very carefully, as if he hoped no one would notice, opened them while wincing periodically. The feeling was so strange – like he had two absolutely massive arms on either side of him; the weight in particular was so peculiar compared to when he was a human. Experimentally, he fanned the smaller wings on his tail. It confounded him that he could move the muscles with little to no thought even though he obtained them only a few hours ago.

The snapping of fingers caused his ears to stand at attention and he glanced over at Spitelout only a half-dozen steps away.

"We're going to play a game," Snotlout's father said with a disturbing purr.

Hiccup shivered all the way from his head to the small wings on his tail. Nervously, he looked around the area quickly before turning his attention on the Viking and mumbling out, "Okay…."

"I want you to walk over to me. However, for every second you take," Spitelout pulled a curved, dastardly dirk, "I will cut her."

Hiccup's ears flattened and his wings gave an instinctive flutter as he watched the knife with a tense stare. "Uh, I fail to see where this is going. But, that's not really a-"

Other than his words, there was no prelude to Spitelout's actions. The dagger came down and sunk into the skin of the woman's arm like the teeth of a wolf.

A strange sound, half roar and half screech fell from Hiccup's muzzle. "What is wrong with you?" Hiccup shouted out as he lunged forward only to land flat on his belly with four legs and wings sprawled out.

With a wave of his hand, Spitelout said, "She's fine, it was just a scratch."

The woman scoffed as if insulted at the insulation that she was anything but.

"No dragon would ever show worry over a human's wellbeing," Spitelout continued.

The noise in the crowd became deafening as people chattered animatedly.

"It could have just smelt the blood and got excited," someone called out.

Spitelout sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I give up."

A man with a whitening beard that, while not massive was of respectable length, spoke for the first time of the night. The man, known as Ormr, was one of the oldest in the entire village. For decades, he had been around through thick and thin; the people of Berk revered his word.

"Okay, let's say this is just some crazy curse or whatever. How does that change anything? A Night Fury is still a danger to the village." Ormr calmly said. His voice was quiet, but he needed not raise it any further as the room went still to take in his words.

"Look at what Stoick's son did as a human," Ormr said as he examined the sprawled out dragon, "Surely, as a dragon, we would be lucky to make it through the month."

"And what is it you said Spitelout?" Ormr turned his blue eyes to the glaring Viking "Oh yes, he still has his human instincts. Hiccup, breath fire for all of us to see."

The black dragon, which was watching the crowds growing angst with trepidation, jumped as if shocked.

"Uh," Hiccup eyes darted around the Mead Hall like a child that was searching for an escape. Not finding any, the Night Fury turned and gave an innocent smile to the wise, old Viking. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Ormr shouted, spit flying from his mouth like rain from a cloud, "DO IT!"

Never before had Hiccup heard the old man raise his voice in such a manner and as such reared back as if struck. With a terrified stutter, he said, "I…I don't know how."

A sad, line-like smile adorned Ormr's face. "He has zero control over his abilities and any warrior knows that someone who doesn't know how to use an axe is as much a danger to those around them as they are to those in front of them. And we know nothing of Night Furies. Maybe they all begin like this and the murderous instinct comes later. We have no idea, and if you really are the chief of this village, Stoick, you will not put us at needless risk."

The village cheered out its agreement. The sound floated through Hiccup like a chilling, bone-crushing curse.

"So what are you suggesting?" Stoick said impassively as if uninterested in the events. In fact, he wasn't even matching Ormr's gaze; instead, he was examining his nails.

It took Ormr a long time to respond.

"Look, I've dealt with dragons a long time and they don't act like that," he said pointing at the alarmed Hiccup still lying on the floor, "but we don't know how long he will stay docile. It could take forever, or we could wake up with our throats missing. Unless we know more, Hiccup cannot remain in Berk."

Hiccup felt his heart stop completely; his wide green eyes turned to his father's own and he said, with a terrified plead, "But, I have nowhere else to go…."

If anyone in the room heard his cry, they ignored him.

Spitelout, once again standing by Stoick's side, asked, "So, by your logic, if we could somehow prove Hiccup's sanity was stable, he could stay."

Ormr, showing his age, coughed loudly before addressing Spitelout, "If you can prove that he won't turn traitor at a moments notice, then I have no problem."

Like an unmoving statue, the Viking Chief remained as stoic as his name would imply.

The screech of a banshee was the next sound to grace the dragon's large ears, "Wait! If we are banishing Hiccup, that means no interaction with him. He would no longer be part of this village and with the harsh winter approaching and the increasing dragon raids we cannot waste any resources or time on him. You two," Brynhilda pointed at Gobber and Stoick, "are needed in the village. Not with a lost cause."

"And how are we supposed to prove he's harmless if we never see him?" Gobber asked. The rage in his eyes was extremely apparent; at the moment, the man was not someone a dragon would want to meet in a dark alley.

"Not my problem." Brynhilda haughty turned her nose up. "A true Viking learns to stand on their own. If Hiccup really is an asset, then he will prove it himself."

Gobber cracked something under his meaty fist, but Hiccup couldn't see what it was. He could, however, hear the snapping wood easily. It was also, for him, quite easy to hear the man's rampaging voice, "Now you listen here ya little witch, I have been around dragons more than you ever will and I can tell you that-"

But nobody else listened to Gobber. Ormr had poisoned their minds against Hiccup. Just about everyone was certain the squirming black dragon was the trouble-making Viking both physically and mentally, but Ormr had convinced them it didn't matter and that, at any moment, he could snap, become a _real_ dragon and take them out.

Stoick, letting a flash of emotion show, sighed loudly. "Anything else," he asked, a twinge of hopelessness just barely apparent in his voice.

Hiccup, his entire body twitching and fidgeting in fright, weakly asked, "I don't even know how to walk, how am I supposed to survive in the woods?"

By the silence in the room, the Night Fury was sure that they heard him, but not a soul answered.

"No, Chief," Ormr answered.

Hiccup started to crawl toward Stoick's feet. His wings dragged along the ground and his tail acted like dead weight. He begged his father for mercy.

Stoick stood up and called to the room, "All those in favor of banishing Hiccup from Berk."

Almost everyone in the room raised their chubby arms – a few were missing hands, but they didn't count any less.

"I see," Stoick said with resignation.

Unlike Stoick's impassive state, the hyperventilating dragon wiggled around like a crippled snake. He tossed one last pleading glare at his father who didn't even spare a glance. With a gulp, Hiccup, in a high-pitched voice as if he were a young child, said, "Oh, no."

And with that declaration, the two large eyes rolled to the back of his head and Hiccup passed out cold.

* * *

**Author Notes:** This chapter was exhausting to write. I wanted the Vikings to accept that Hiccup was the dragon – and not some mindless beast – but due to their paranoia and prejudice it didn't matter. They were much more comfortable sweeping the entire situation under the rug, so to speak. Of course, that puts Hiccup in a quite a predicament. And how in the world could Stoick have been so emotionless as his son was banished from the village? Let me know what you think!

Edited on November 30th, 2015


	5. Family Bonding

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 4: Family Bonding

* * *

An owl hooted in the dark forest. Its call reverberated and echoed off of trees in a disturbing, skin-rattling way that it feel as if something was watching from just out of sight.

Hiccup's green eyes fluttered open.

The clearing was dark, but not pitch-black as the moon shined its rays down and gave everything an eerie, silver glow. Under his claws, Hiccup could feel dirt and small rocks poking into his paw like small pinpricks. Looking around, Hiccup was shocked at just how vivid everything was to his Night Fury eyes. Sure, the shadows accented things in weird ways, but it was very easy to see the rows of trees and vegetation both in front of and behind him. It was easier still to see the path he rested on, full of dirt and small rocks. There was even a fallen tree trunk down the way a bit and a bird hiding in a nearby bush.

But even with the detail, there were no distinguishable features in his immediate vicinity. The only reason he knew he was still on the same island was because he was able to see the tip of a spiky mountain just above the tree line.

Well, at least the Vikings of Berk hadn't just stuck him on a boat and pushed him out to sea. Instead, they had just dropped him off in a random point in the woods as if they didn't care where he went. Which, in reflection, they probably didn't.

After all, it was his job to make sure he avoided them – not the other way around. And the truly difficult part in avoiding his hometown had nothing to do with the lurches his heart kept giving, but rather because he had no idea where he was and therefore he had no idea which direction he shouldn't go.

"Well, this sucks," the dragon said with one more glance at his surroundings.

With a deep breath, the small dragon pushed up on his legs and attempted to stand. He held it momentarily, the little legs quivering and shaking like a scorned child before he collapsed.

The scent of soil and earth filled his nostrils as he lay on the ground. The little pieces of rocks and vegetation lightly tickled his stomach like a small swarm of insects. A sigh, full of tired hopelessness, rang out.

In his head, a sickeningly sweet voice reverberated and bounced around like a ball. _"A true Viking learns to stand on their own. If Hiccup really is an asset, then he will prove it himself."_

Subconsciously, a growl, sounding far more dragon-like than anything Hiccup had done with his new body, started to grow from his rumbling throat. Eventually, Hiccup released the build-up in a savage roar of fury and frustration. He hit the ground, hard, with one of his paws.

"I hate her – I really, truly do," the dragon said out loud. "Screw her. I'm going to prove her wrong. I will _NOT_ let this get the best of me. There is no way I'm dying until I wipe that stupid, fat sneer off her face."

One steadying breath later and Hiccup forced himself, this time with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, to stand. His legs quivered and complained, but Hiccup forced himself up no matter how sore they were.

Thankfully, the dragon did not find himself face first in the dirt. And with care, he lifted his front right paw. The unaccustomed weight of his wings and tail still threw the Viking off and he teetered like a man on a cliff, but he did not fall. His foot came into contact with the hard soil as the dragon finished his excruciating first step.

Hiccup let out a bark of laughter with sparkling green eyes and wings fluttering in happiness.

His mirth was short lived as he, once again, gritted his teeth and mentally clenched. His wings tensed and his tail shot out as straight as an arrow.

His maw opened and uttered, "You can do this Hiccup. First, shelter; second, food."

Yet, this time the dragon was unable to hold his balance and fell down. Thankfully, he was able to collapse onto his haunches in some mockery of a sitting position instead of landing on his stomach.

Groaning loudly, Hiccup prepared to give another attempt when he heard it. Directly in front of him, the bushes shivered as something large made its way through them.

Hiccup's eyes widened humorously as he muttered out a weak, "Oh great," and waited for his guest to appear.

The vegetation parted way for a large four-legged creature with black scales and sparkling, luminous eyes that shown like miniature green suns. Majestic wings rested on either side of the creature, their calm disposition hiding their explosive and powerful nature. The creature, a dragon, looked exactly like Hiccup from head to tail-wings, but was about twice as tall and obviously much heavier.

A twig snapped under the creature's claws as it took a step toward the smaller Night Fury.

Hiccup, with a nervous chuckle, said, "I really hope dragons aren't cannibals, because if they are, I can assure you that eating me would be a terrible idea. With how my life is going, I doubt I could even play the part of food right. You would probably turn into a human or something…."

The larger dragon paused in mid step and studied Hiccup with narrowed eyes and a cocked head. Its wings twitched, and its tail swayed back and forth in careful, slow yet powerful strokes.

Another snapped twig; another step forward.

"Good dragon, you don't need to come any closer. I'm perfectly content with the view I have," Hiccup said; the edges of panic lacing his voice.

But the dragon didn't stop – it continued its methodical, slow march toward the other member of its species. It wasn't the calculating approach that disturbed Hiccup. It was the creature's eyes full of curiosity and annoyance. Those green orbs kept shifting and examining Hiccup as if he might disappear at a moments notice.

The dragon got within fifteen feet.

"Okay, get back!" Hiccup said, and lifted up his left foreleg as a shield, "I have claws and I can…swing them!"

Ten feet.

"I will shake my wings and make loud noises!" The pitch of Hiccup's voice rose drastically and he rushed through his words in a terrified haste.

The other Night Fury stopped when its face was so close that Hiccup could see the individual scales. Hiccup's green eyes stared into the creature's own and the human-turned-dragon swore he could see something, a longing, in their crystalline beauty.

Hiccup audibly swallowed and tried to smile.

With one giant sniff, the other dragon reared back and eyed his smaller counterpart with disgust.

"Great, I probably still smell like a Viking," Hiccup mused.

Then without so much as a warning, a blaring pain smashed into Hiccup's skull like he was body slammed by a Gronckle. His vision blanked and Hiccup felt his body collide with the ground. All he could see were shifting bright colors like a rainbow and all he could hear was a screeching, moaning roar unlike anything he'd ever heard before. Finally, after what felt like hours, the sensation began to drain out of him like water from a pot and he was left lying on the ground, panting in total confusion. His tongue hung out of his mouth and he could taste the dirt.

Hiccup turned his green eyes upward to the other dragon and was shocked to find anger that positively glistened. Then, with a bone-chilling growl, the other dragon turned, haughtily perked its head up, and strolled away with a wagging tail and cavalier strut.

The twisting and ruffling of leaves were the only sounds that accompanied its exit from the scene. It never looked back.

For a few minutes, Hiccup remained on the ground and watched the woods while breathing deeply. Finally, with a sigh, the dragon ignored the soreness in his limbs and forced himself to a standing position.

"Thanks for the pounding headache. I really appreciate it!" Hiccup called out after the dragon.

Grumbling, the Night Fury watched the ground beneath his claws. Last time he had managed one step before collapsing. This time, he was going to make it two.

It took a while, and a few failures, but Hiccup managed to work his way to the bushes on the side of the road. The problem was his poor legs. They were throbbing and begging for mercy. Hiccup guessed that his new muscles came completely fresh and, therefore, had no true mass behind them. And if that were the case, the young dragon had no idea how he was going to survive. Building up muscle strength did take time after all.

Maybe if he could find that other dragon, he could, with pleading eyes and sagging wings, get it to give him some food. Then again, it had basically attacked him, mentally, so Hiccup wasn't so sure it would be willing to even entertain him. Besides, weren't dragons just mindless monsters anyway – after feeding him, it would probably just eat him or something. Right?

As he stood there, thinking, something long and narrow cut through the air like a knife and whipped harshly over his wings and under his belly. Surprised, Hiccup jumped and turned to examine the object when suddenly, the long, stringy thing tightened considerably and forced Hiccups wings against his body. With a yelp, the Night Fury instinctively tried to fold out his wings, but was unable to move them so much as an inch.

Eyeing the rope with extreme annoyance, Hiccup tried to dislodge it by shaking his wings and turning his body, but it stuck to him like glue, and was just out of reach of his claws. Although, if he tilted his neck just right, he might be able….

A voice ripped into the cool night air and caused Hiccup's head to snap back up. His eyes widened considerably when he saw the speaker.

"It's always a good idea to restrain the wings first," the masculine voice said. "The beast's first reaction is to fly away and, obviously, that would not be good for us."

"Spitelout!" Hiccup roared at the muscular Viking standing nearby. "Just what do you think you're doing!"

Spitelout, other than throwing a disturbing wink, completely ignored the fuming Night Fury. Instead, he turned toward his son, Snotlout, who held a great deal of rope in his hands.

The younger Viking's face was emotionless and serious with no hint of a smile anywhere close.

"The next step is somewhat of a personal choice." Spitelout told his son, "Once you get the wings – the dragon's instincts flare up and the creature will panic. It'll usually use its fire to defend itself at this point, which is why most people deal with the head next. However, I've always been more concerned with the beast running away."

Then, with a mighty heave, the large Viking tossed another coil of rope at the dragon. Hiccup, seeing the attack, ducked down. Of course, he didn't actually duck under the entire rope; instead, he merely bent down into the open circle. Spitelout gave a heave and the rope tightened instantly before Hiccup even realized what was happening. The rope collided with each of his feet and pulled them tightly together. Unable to balance, the Night Fury fell to the ground with a bang and a small cloud of dirt.

Hiccup wiggled his legs, but they were completely trapped – he could barely move them in any which way. "What is wrong with you!" he screamed at the two people and squirmed like a trapped animal. "Let me go!"

Instead of listening, Spitelout was talking to his son. "If you tie the rope right you should just have to yank hard on this to tighten the noose so the beast can't get away."

With one cocked eyebrow and a contemplative look, Snotlout asked his father, "Can't they just break the rope? It's not that strong."

"If you hogtie 'em quick, then they don't have the leverage needed to break free. And their claws are kept safely out of range so they can't cut it either. Naturally, this doesn't apply to the largest of beasts, but this target is easily small enough. Of course, you should still wrap the rope around a few more times to be sure they can't escape. But, before that we need to deal with the head."

Hiccup ignored their conversation and instead focused on breaking out of his bonds. But no matter what way he wiggled or how hard he pushed the rope remained firm.

In Spitelout's hands was a similar coil of rope to before, but was noticeable smaller. He was pointing out various aspects and differences to his son. "A similar noose to what we used for the legs, but this one has a small piece of metal to prevent it from over tightening. After all, if we wanted to kill the beast, we wouldn't go through all this trouble." Spitelout chuckled to himself.

"You throw. Aim for the neck." Spitelout told his son and looked up. Seeing the struggling Night Fury, the old Viking sighed and called out, "Hiccup, can't you squirm better than that? At least make it a challenge."

Hiccup paused and with as much sarcasm as he could muster, responded, "I'm _SORRY_ I'm not playing the ideal victim!"

Without needed a second try, Snotlout found his target and Hiccup felt the loop of rope fall slack around his throat like a ugly necklace.

"Good throw!" Spitelout cheered. "Now, pull."

The rope around Hiccup's neck tightened until it was taut. "Ow, too tight; too tight!" Hiccup fearfully called out as he instinctively tired to raise a claw to remove the noose from his neck. Sadly, they were stuck in their own predicament.

"He's fine," Spitelout said with a tinge of annoyance. "Tie it off. Now it can't move its head, but we're still not done. Okay, we going to use another of those catching ropes but this time, we are going to run it around the beast's muzzle. And then, loop it over its ears and behind its head and feed it through the lead. Now tighten. There! The halter should prevent the dragon from biting or breathing fire. Or, in this case, speaking."

Spitelout released the noose around his neck and stood up with an egotistical smirk.

A furious series of mumbles came from Hiccups mouth that sounded somewhat like, "I hate you two."

"Sorry, what was that?" Snotlout asked innocently with a cutesy sneer.

The mumbling coming from Hiccups mouth exploded as the dragon fought hard against the rope around his snout. But, it held and the dragon eventually gave up with a defeated blast of air coming out of his nostrils.

Spitelout, in mockery of affection, lightly tapped the back leg of the dragon. "And that's how you wrangle a dragon. Ready for transport to the butcher."

Hiccup screamed as coherently as possible, but it came out as a jumbled blur. Rapidly squirming, Hiccup tried to free himself but was unable to even loosen the ropes. After a few seconds, the dragon calmed and allowed himself a rational thought. They weren't going to actually cut him up into little pieces. Right?

Hiccup turned his gaze to the two Vikings. Spitelout had his hand on Snotlout's shoulder and was watching his son with an expression that Hiccup couldn't put his claw on. It wasn't affection, but it was about as far from hate as winter was from summer.

"That was easy," Snotlout said with a smile and puffed up shoulders.

Spitelout replied, "We don't need to keep dragons alive often, but this is still a useful skill to know."

"Why don't we just knock 'em out instead of all this?"

"Son." Spitelout grabbed his son by the shoulders and forced him to look him straight in the eye.

"Yeah?"

Spitelout's voice was forceful and powerful. "Don't ever try to knock a dragon out – it just does not work. And you would not like the results. If you absolutely have to, you can choke them until they pass out, but never try to knock them out with physical blows."

"Why?"

Spitelout opened his mouth, but no words came out. He licked his lips and looked at the younger Viking for a long time. Eventually, he simply moved past him and approached Hiccup.

Blinking dumbly, Snotlout threw a questioning glare at his father, before joining him next to the bound dragon.

"Do we untie him now?" Snotlout asked.

"Nope, it will be much easier to move him like this." Spitelout said and picked up Hiccup's tail to test the weight. With a satisfied grunt, the adult Viking dropped the Night Fury's black, scaly tail and it hit the ground with a light thump.

A series of muffled noises came from the dragon's snout as he tried to voice a question.

Remarkably, Spitelout recognized enough of the speech to reply, "Nope, the muzzle stays on; I really don't want to deal with your questions or complaining."

At least, Hiccup found out, he could hiss at the two of them.

* * *

Hiccup found himself deposited onto a wooden floor. The ropes cut into, what felt like, every orifice of his body. The dragon moaned.

There was not a doubt in Hiccups mind as to his current location: for whatever reason, Spitelout had snuck him back into Berk. As he was lying on the floor trussed up like a bird, Hiccup's eyes shot around and confirmed his hypothesis. Other than the visual queues, the smell in the air – revolting in a way that only Spitelout and his son could produce – were memorable to the extreme. He was currently residing in their humble adobe.

Spitelout, brandishing a knife and looking far too reminiscent of a serial killer, leaned over the fidgeting dragon and began to cut the ropes.

They fell down and collected like the coils of a snake on the ground. Now free, Hiccup rapidly shook his head back and forth to try to clear the ghosting on his face. Even though he knew they weren't there, Hiccup swore he could still feel the ropes all over his body. He shivered and threw a glare of malice at the Viking standing near him.

"How do you feel?" Spitelout asked.

Hiccup looked at him for a long minute. When he spoke, his voice was tired and short, "My wings are killing me, my legs feel like they are going to fall off, and I can't feel my tail. Not to mention, I got turned into a dragon, kicked out of the village and then kidnapped by you. How do you think I'm doing?"

The Viking had the audacity to laugh.

Throwing a glare at Spitelout, Hiccup asked with dripping sarcasm, "Next time, can you not include me in family bonding time?"

"And deny you the fun?"

"I could do without any more _fun_ today. So, what's this?" A sharp claw waved around crudely. "You brought me back to Berk. Why?"

The smile on Spitelout's face morphed into something far different that Hiccup could only describe as an overly proud smirk. Slightly nervous, the Night Fury rapidly looked around his surroundings for anything he could use to defend himself if need be. While there were many weapons, none of them would be usable with his claws, and there was nothing to take cover behind, except maybe the table. Of course, it's not like he could beat Spitelout in a foot race anyway.

One more look around. Snotlout was nowhere to be seen but unless his new nose were betraying him, Hiccup could smell his rival in the next room. He was easily identifiable as a ball of sweat, testosterone and body odor but the scent of fish, cheese, and wheat also drifted into his nose and made it quiver spontaneously.

His stomach complained.

"Let me tell you a story," Spitelout started.

Green eyes followed Spitelout's form as he knelt by the raging fire. Hiccup scooted forward until the soot and smoke masked the smell of nourishment.

"Once upon a time, there was a Viking prodigy. Even as a young adult, his skill with an axe and his resolve in battle was legendary. And as he aged, his fable grew as every challenge in front of him collapsed like the skulls of his victims. Nothing slowed him down; nothing stopped him. Nothing, until he was given the leadership of his village. Supplies dropped, war loomed, and the man watched in shocked horror as his efforts failed. Suffering, disease and hopelessness ran rampant like a raging dragon."

The fire's emanated light danced around Spitelout's body. The resulting highlights would have been mysterious and almost ethereal if Hiccup were still human, but with his astute vision, the illumination merely looked like red and orange paint splattered over the man.

"Today that man is known as one of the greatest chiefs of all time. So, what changed?

Hiccup blinked. Spitelout looked over his shoulder with an emotionless expression. The Night Fury watched the reflected flames dance on his orbs, but didn't say a word.

Spitelout faced the fire and continued, "He realized he didn't want to lead. You see: some people want to lead for glory or power, and some want to lead to prove a point. Others lead because they know they can do it best. And because of that, they feel obligated to do so, to sacrifice everything."

Picking up a short metal rod with a vicious looking hook on the end, Spitelout used the poker to shift and move the wood in the fire around. It crackled and burned, the snaps reverberating through the old house. A particularly loud and unexpected one caused the dragon to wince.

The lecture continued, "Yet, there is only so much sacrifice one can give before they shatter utterly. That man lost his wife when they were both still young – she was carried off like a sack of potatoes and never seen again. To most, that would be the breaking point and they would move on, give up."

Spitelout turned and looked at Hiccup. After an uncomfortable minute that involved a lot of squirming dragon, the man spoke, "You are your fathers last straw. He has given everything to this village. With the dragon raids and increasing pressure from our neighbors we need him more than ever, but if he loses you, we lose him."

Hiccup wiggled in place. "Well, if you didn't notice, I got turned into a dragon and banished so it's not looking so good," he said, the sound coming out purposely harsher than he felt.

"Do not be sharp with me." Spitelout snapped and stood up. The man lorded over the dragon. "Your banishment was planned."

Even the fire seemed to quiet down as the room plunged into a deadly silence. Hiccup could hear Snotlout munching on something in the other room, but paid it no mind as a freezing cold sensation ran over his body like he was slowly submerged in a frozen lake.

"What?" Hiccup asked in a high-pitched voice that sounded a bit like a chirp.

"There were three options that could happen: one, you stay in the village; two, you get banished; three, you get executed. The first one had minimal chances so the entire goal was to avoid getting you killed."

Hiccup's eyes narrowed, his wings twitched and his claws dug into the wood beneath him. "So you wanted this to happen?" he asked.

"Of course not, you stupid child, but it's best we could do. Or did you really think Stoick would doom you to the wilds? Do you really have so little trust in your father?"

A bark erupted out of the dragon's snout that sounded too much like a dog for Hiccups liking. "Doom me to the wilds." Hiccup screeched, "I _AM_ doomed – the village will have my head if I'm discovered anyway near here."

A chubby finger pointed at the dragon and wavered slightly. Its owner grinned.

"_IF_ you are discovered," Spitelout said.

It felt like the floor vanished from under Hiccups pointy claws and he was hanging in limbo.

"You're crazy," Hiccup whispered.

Spitelout beamed and puffed out his chest, the spines on his shoulders making him look like an overconfident porcupine.

"We're not supposed to fraternize with potential enemies," the man said, "but if you are here to begin with, we can hide you and no one will be the wiser. And then, once the village has gotten more used to the idea of your transformation, and you've gained competence, we can get you back into their good graces. Potentially."

Harsh tapping arose in the cabin as Hiccup drummed his claws on the wood. "If this was all planned by you and Dad, how come he ignored me the entire time?"

Green eyes rolled and Hiccup couldn't help but notice how similar Spitelout's eye color was to that of the dragon he saw earlier.

In a peeved drawl, Spitelout said, "Hiccup, when have we ever gotten along? I think you are a weak, useless child that wastes both our time and our resources. An argument coming from me is so much more powerful than one coming from your father. By remaining calm and unemotional, he looked the part of chief and everyone viewed him as doing the right thing for Berk."

Hiccup's eyes narrowed. "Yup, you're insane," he hissed, spittle flying from his mouth and darkening the light, dry wood in front of him.

"I'll take that as a complement." Spitelout sneered.

The room dipped into quiet one again. But instead of managing the fire, Spitelout kept his gaze focused on the Night Fury with an intensity that made Hiccups frustration morph into calculating nervousness with a side dish of annoyance.

Suddenly, the dragon flung his two front legs into the air. After hanging in the air for a second, they came down on the wood with a loud crack. "This doesn't make any sense. Why not keep me in the forest and supply me with food? Why hide me here?" the dragon asked.

"I thought you were intelligent," Spitelout growled. "Use your brain, you impudent child! If we were seen leaving the village repetitively, people would get curious. By going home and acting normal, no one will have a clue."

While he spoke, the man's eyebrows quivered, and his fingers tapped his side feverously.

Green dragon eyes watched the thumping fingers with curious intent.

"That's not the only reason is it," he inquired, meeting Spitelout's gaze.

Neither intimidated nor fazed, the Viking replied with a cheeky smile, "No, it's not."

Hiccup waited a minute. No additional response came. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Spitelout made a tsking noise with his tongue and lightly shook his head. "Maybe you are smarter than you look," he mockingly remarked.

Loud rummaging came from the other room, followed by a loud bang and a muttered curse. An angry shout, from Spitelout, accompanied the disturbance.

A house-shattering rumble arose from Hiccup's stomach and made the dragon grimace in embarrassment. He threw a nervous chuckle at Spitelout. Admitting to the man that he need help to even feed himself – that he was as helpless as the Viking always claimed – was as repulsive as the fish earlier, so he quickly tried to change the topic.

"Ormr did bring up a good point though." Trying to act uninterested, Hiccup examined one of his claws. "What if I snap and become a monster?" Some of the trepidation swimming around his stomach leaked out in his words.

Spitelout snorted.

"I really doubt you could be any worse. Five minutes with you gives me a migraine that lasts five days." To animate his point, fingers heavily massaged his forehead.

Hiccup ignored his action and asked, "Aren't you even slightly worried?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Shoulders rose and fell like a rock tossed into the air. "If that happens, I will personally kill you," the man said full of apathy. "In the meantime, I will, as painful as it is for me to admit, treat you as the family you are."

Hiccup's wings drooped down and he looked at the floor beneath him. He could deal with being a dragon, if he absolutely had to, but the idea of losing his mind filled him with so much dread that Hiccup briefly wondered if it would be better to take his own life and avoid the situation, but he quickly refuted that. Death was the coward's way out.

The creaking of wood caused Hiccup's floppy ears to perk up.

Spitelout's form quickly disappeared through a door. The man, out of visual range, called out, "Oh, there is one more snag in the plan."

He reentered the room with an elaborate battle-axe in hand. The sight caused Hiccup's eyes to widen, his heart to skip a beat, his wings to tighten up, and his mind to race harder than a horse. But Spitelout didn't so much as look at the black dragon as he moved over to his collection of whetstones.

As he toiled, the rhythmic sound of rock grinding on iron floated through the house.

Spitelout elaborated on his previous comment, "After the recent raid, Stoick and I decided to go on a hunt for the dragon's nest. Obviously, to avoid suspicion, we can't cancel now."

Large green eyes widened to a comical size.

"No, no, no. That's never going to work."

Spitelout smiled down at the terrified Night Fury and said, "My son is going to watch you while the two of us are out at sea."

A gasp and a choke rose from a nearby room. The scampering of feet and an admonished, plump-faced Viking, complete with meat hanging off his chin, quickly followed.

"What!" Snotlout shouted. "I never agreed to this!"

One terrible, authoritative glare appeared on Spitelout and he snarled, a bit like a wolf at his son. "It's not up for debate."

"You want Hiccup to learn dragony things like breathing fire in our wooden house," Snotlout put large emphasis on the word, _wooden_, "while I keep him secret from everyone for weeks until you get back."

Hiccup covered his head with his front two paws and whined. "I'm completely screwed."

It appeared that Snotlout was going to continue, but his father's deadly serious stare froze him in place with his mouth hanging open.

Spitelout then grabbed his son and held him in a tight embrace. In Snotlout's ear, too quiet to be heard had Hiccup not had superior Night Fury hearing, the older Viking whispered, "Real Vikings rise to the challenge, my son. Are you ready to grow up? Or will you condemn your cousin to death? Because as he is now, he cannot survive alone."

Chubby, muscular hands pushed their father away.

Lips quivered as Snotlout chewed on them lightly. He then looked up at his father, met his gaze, and gaze a small nod. And then, to top it all off, he threw Hiccup a glare of pure irritation.

"If Hiccup is discovered, it's not just his head that will roll. I know you can do this." Spitelout said, in a voice that was calmer and more caring than anything Hiccup had ever heard the man utter before. "But, if he loses his human mind – do what you have to."

"How will I know if he changes?" Snotlout asked with a light tremble.

"It will be incredibly obvious – you will know." Spitelout gave a slow, calming breath. "Stoick is counting on you to protect his son. Don't let him, or me, down."

"I won't," the young Viking said quietly.

"Wait, what about Gobber," Hiccup said both suddenly and pleadingly. "He rarely goes on trips with you guys anymore, surely he can watch me."

Spitelout rubbed his nose and muttered furiously under his breath. "No, he can't because, first off, Gobber has no idea of this plan and second off, its going to remain that way since the man cannot keep a secret to save his, or in this case, your life."

"Gobber would never-" Hiccup started only to be interrupted by a furious Spitelout.

"Of course he wouldn't intentionally, you ignorant brat! He gets drunk almost every night in the Mead Hall and boasts about his feats for all to hear. What do you think would happen? He would betray you and not even realize it the day after."

"Looks like your stuck with me," Snotlout said with confidence, yet his shifty eyes and white-faced complexion betrayed him.

Hiccup watched his pale cousin with apprehension. Snotlout was neither the smartest nor the cleverest of Vikings and, to top it off, didn't get along with him at all. And that's not even mentioning his clumsy, careless attitude. The two of them would be lucky to make it a week without being detected or trying to eviscerate one another.

And the worst part of it all? If they were discovered, Snotlout would be branded a traitor. The two rivals now shared their doomed fate.

Family bonding indeed.

* * *

**Author Notes: **This chapter was hard as all hell to write. Trying to keep Spitelout in character was ridiculously difficult. Hopefully, I manage to do so and make this believable.

Originally, the wrangling scene was much shorter but I decided to increase the length to try and give some interaction between Snotlout and his father. I wanted to make their relationship more transparent.

Edited November 30th, 2015


	6. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Paradigm Shift**

Intermission I: Something Wicked This Way Comes

* * *

Cold.

It was frigid.

Not in a physical sense, the air didn't feel like shards of minuscule ice scratching and tearing at one's throat as it was inhaled, but the ambience did freeze the very soul like some dreadful apparition was squeezing and choking it with disturbing enthusiasm.

The fire in the middle of the majestic, wooden hall crackled and sputtered in protest at the suffocating setting, but even its oranges and reds seemed muted by a haze of blue and white. Still, the flames shifted, danced, and looked every which way like a corned animal trying to escape their inevitable doom. Little did the inferno know, fleeing was an absolute impossibility.

No one ever escaped from him.

And there he was, up on his makeshift throne of darkened wood. To him, it didn't matter that the wood was splintering, harsh and unpolished – the fact that it was uncomfortable and as aesthetically appealing as a slug was the point. The focus should never be on the throne; rather, it should be on what's important – the fact that it held him.

Besides, comfort was for the weak.

A stifling voice droned on through the air – not cutting but melting in as another boring, worthless component.

Red flames flickered.

"…as you see, everything is going just as expected. After the disagreement, we made sure to…."

Speaking was a man who, while not short in stature, was dwarfed by the company he kept. His blue eyes and brown, short hair were nothing special, nor were the outlandish clothes he wore: a green tunic smeared with brown splotches of dirt; tan, loose hose that was torn periodically throughout; and old, worn, leather boots that could have, at one time, been the home of vermin with their gaping holes.

To the casual observer, he was poor, tattered and down on his last legs.

But if you looked further: the sash was too elegant, the hose's cuts too systematic, the dirt wasn't entrenched into the fabric and instead rested as if it were just on the surface. Most betraying of all was the way the man held himself. His back was straight, chest puffed out, head held high – this was a man groomed to lead, nobility in all but name.

"…be no more. Now they understand that your caring protection is the only thing that can keep them safe."

Atop his throne, Drago smiled. Not as a joyous, harmonious symbol, but one that froze blood and stopped hearts – a sickeningly superior, hopeless curse of a smirk.

"And care I do," the dragon god said without a hint of sarcasm. "Continue."

With a careless shrug of his shoulders, the smaller man said, "That was it really."

So much useless prattle resulting in so much wasted time. Everything mentioned was already known to Drago. Of course, people who wronged him were sorry. They always were.

Or they were already dead.

Seeing Drago's twitching eyebrows and frothing frown, the man quickly added, "Well, there was a report of a Night Fury attacking Berk, but I figured one dragon would be beneath you."

For the first time all night, a twinge of curiosity injected itself into Drago's harsh, craggy voice, "A Night Fury?"

He had heard about the enigmas before – but only that.

The man let out a breath of relief. "Yeah. Not a lot is known about them: fast and powerful. Probably would be the most-feared dragons around, but they're too rare. The one around Berk is the first confirmed sighting in decades."

"The offspring of lightning and death," Drago muttered in a crass whisper but even he was unable to keep the slight awe out of his tone.

Drago narrowed his eyes and said in a stern, commanding voice, "I want to know more about this creature."

"Are you sure, My Lord?"

That was the one annoying thing about the man in front of him. It was too painfully obvious that he was not a Viking. Besides, his tasteless affinity for clothing, his speech and mannerisms were that of a mainlander. But that was fine with Drago as the man was skilled in the plethora of things he didn't want to do like managing the logistics of his army.

Not to mention, there was something incredibly appealing about being called, _My Lord_. It was a feeling, a tingle in his chest, that he wouldn't mind getting intimately familiar with.

"I thought you wanted to remain low-key," the mainlander asked with a slight frown.

Chubby fingers started to play with a small, elongated dragon fang. It was a dirty, ivory color and chipped throughout as if someone had brought a chisel to it

"Such a noble dragon," Drago said to no one in particular. Instead, it came out as a trance – whispery and mesmerizing. "I would love to educate it on the way of the world. My lessons would sink in, deep and permanent."

With a half-hearted chuckle, the mainlander asked, "Shall I ready the fleet?"

In a burst of fury, like unconstrained dragon fire, Drago snapped at the foolish man in a voice that didn't sound similar to the roar of a bear or a dragon, but instead, sounded like an angry, displeased deity – full of power and deep-pitched thunder yet reined in from its true terrifying potential.

"Not the army, you incompetent idiot! Berk isn't worth the time nor the effort – they're probably still scrambling from when I burned down that hall years ago."

Drago's rage morphed into a cross between a sigh and a growl. When he spoke again, a few moments later, it was no longer earth-shatteringly loud but the tone was even deeper and despite its new reticence, twice as dangerous.

"They should have listened to me. Bad things come to those who tread lightly, mockingly. Still, Berk represents an opportunity and I won't lose that by striking too soon; first, the iron needs to be red-hot."

The smaller man fingered the neckline of his tunic nervously as beads of sweat trailed from his forehead down his neck and underneath his heavy wool clothes.

"Opportunity?" he tentatively asked.

Two eyes lorded over the mainlander causing, for the first time during the meeting, him to squirm like a fish out of water.

"Strength bleeds in the strangest of circumstances," Drago said calmly.

And with that statement, Drago went quiet. The only audible sound was the cracking and snapping of logs, but try as it might, the fire was unable to adequately use the logs to hide from the dragon god.

After only a few minutes, the mainlander spoke yet again. This time, his voice had lost its commanding, confident edge and was more comparable to a frightened, confused child. Still, he tried, and succeeded, to prevent a stutter from escaping his mouth, "I'll put out a bounty on the Night Fury – what do you want to offer for the beast?"

Drago, whose eyes had not shifted from the mainlander's own, smirked and instantly asked, "For the creature caught alive?"

A quick, jittery nod was his answer.

"A king's ransom." Drago shrugged and nonchalantly said, "It's not like they will ever see a single coin of the reward; they will be far too busy making the trip to Valhalla."

The smaller man audibly gulped and attempted to smile.

Drago waved him off and lazily said, "Leave me."

It seemed there was little else that the dragon god could have said that would have been more appreciated by the mainlander. He gave a quick bow, turned on his heels – a strange squeaking sound coming from the raised heel of his boots on the wooden floor – and marched, with perhaps just a bit too much vigor, to the exit of the room.

Naturally, right when the mainlander rested his hand on the door, its rough, irritating wood tickling the calluses on his hand, Drago spoke once again.

"Wait. Where did you get this information?"

Without so much as turning around, the mainlander twisted his head, glanced over his shoulder and said, "A seafaring merchant brought it up – claimed she was there when the Night Fury attacked a few weeks ago. Said the creature's pitch was a harrowing, hair-raising screech that could shatter glass. Then she claimed-"

"What a shame," interrupted Drago.

This time, the mainlander fully turned around and faced the large, one-armed Viking. "Excuse me?"

"Kill her."

Drago had learned, long ago, that it was better to solve problems before they came to be. This way he was guaranteeing that someone would not interfere with his plans and besides it's not like anyone was going to miss some stupid, trivial merchant girl.

The mainlander hesitated and his eyes shifted around the room nervously. "My Lord?" he asked in a sputter.

Drago rolled his eyes. The man's chivalry was becoming a stupidly annoying and almost asinine quality – he tortured, stole and had no qualms killing most of the time. One guess as to when he did have a problem.

"Did I stutter? Or do you want to take her place?"

The man opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. After momentarily looking like an imbecile, the gaping cavern closed shut like a clam.

"What are you still doing here?" Drago growled.

Still, the man didn't move: he was frozen like a fool in winter.

"Get out of my presence, you dimwitted moron!"

Just like the coward he truly was, and all mainlanders really were, the man fled the room without so much as a glance. But even in his haste, the smaller man was polite enough to not slam the door and it closed shut with a light thump.

Drago Bludvist smiled. Everything was coming together and soon people would realize that there was no hiding from him. No army would be able to resist or stop him. They would all bow under his feet. The Night Fury was just a delicacy – something he could splurge on while he accomplished his real goals.

At this point, there was only one thing that could stop him.

Drago glanced at the plaque resting near his chair. It contained an engraved picture of pure brutality: the slaughter of dragons by dragons as if the beasts had lost their minds utterly and cared only for ripping each other into as many pieces as possible.

The fire sputtered and died. Drago paid it no mind and sat in the absolute darkness like a hibernating bear – the rise and fall of his chest the only evidence that he was alive and not a lifeless statue.

He just needed to figure out where _they_ came from and how to stop _them_. Were all dragons at risk or only some? Was an alpha really the key? Or was there more to it?

Drago had never been the sharpest axe around, but he would be damned if he didn't figure out this riddle.

It was the only thing standing between him and his destiny.

* * *

**Author Notes:** Sorry for the slow updates – been having way too much fun in the sun lately. Thankfully, I managed to get out this intermission chapter for all of you to chew on. Yes its short - but it told what I wanted you to know and no more. Giving away too much too early would be no fun right? Better to let you stew and cook a bit first.

I want to note that in the second movie, it is said that Drago burned down the hall in Berk and Stoick was the only survivor. I am guessing such an event happened while Hiccup was still very young, as he otherwise would have remembered. Drago then disappeared to build his dragon army, which he is still working on.

For those of you that want more Toothless, patient – he has a very prominent and pivotal role in this story, but it will take its time getting there. This is not a sprint but a marathon.

Edited December 2nd, 2015


	7. A House Warming Gift

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 5: A House Warming Gift

* * *

A roar, much like a dragon would make, rocketed through the wooden cottage. It was a gruff, rickety sound.

Hiccup groaned. Two black paws slammed into his ears and scrunched them as hard as possible, hoping beyond hope to cut off the infernal, scathing noise.

After a moment of serenity, the harsh sound once again penetrated the calm air, destroying the early morning's tranquility through its very existence. It felt like an old witch was digging her grimy, dilapidated nails deep into Hiccup's ears.

Hiccup's groans turned into frustrated whimpers. Black ears twitched.

This time, silence reigned for all of two seconds. Then again, the forge of hell struck, ringing loud and clear. Hiccup swore he could feel the wooden, slightly frayed bungalow quiver and threaten to fall apart with the pounding.

"These stupid ears are not helping," Hiccup said in an overly sweet voice. It wasn't loud enough to stir his cousin, which after one more lurching, rumbling snore, Hiccup was sorely regretting.

Rolling over, the boy-turned-dragon wrapped himself up in the myriad of blankets and furs he had claimed the night before. He refused to think of it as a "nest" as he was not some stupid animal no matter what jokes his cousin had made.

Curling up tightly and reveling in the heat that warmed him from the ends of his claws to the tip of his tail, Hiccup let out an exasperated sigh. Quickly, he forced a number of blankets over his head.

The sounds quickly muted.

And it was bliss.

Just when the euphoria, the peace, the freedom of sleep was about to overtake him, Hiccup felt the ground quake. With a quick wiggle, the black dragon freed his scaly head from the blanket's soft touch and glanced toward the obtrusion.

Snotlout was awake, trudging to the storage room with steps heavy enough to wake the sleeping dead.

The Vikings of Berk ate most of their meals at the mead hall. It was far better to store the vast majority of food in one location as it made the management and distribution far more equitable. If there was one thing the Vikings took seriously, besides battle, masculinity, and needless pain, it was food, especially meat. But it was foolish to assume that each Viking wouldn't keep some personal stock. After all, no one wanted to walk through the night to get a midnight snack, not because it was scary or tiring, but because it took far too much time. To Vikings, patience was not a virtue.

Before his cousin could journey across the room, Hiccup quickly informed him, "You could wake the dead, you know that?"

Snotlout rubbed his eyes and lazily glanced at the dragon. "Huh?" was his reply that sounded far more like a burp than actual sophisticated language.

Hiccup threw a sneer at his cousin before trying again. "Your snoring is annoying."

Snotlout's confused, blank, and far too lost expression quickly lite up like a village under attack from rampaging dragons. "Good," he said in a cheerful yip.

Hiccup's eyes narrowed.

"I didn't think it could get worse than Dad, but you just might have managed."

"Awesome!" Snotlout subconsciously stood up straight like an arrow. His chest puffed up like a bird would fluff their feathers. "Did you get any sleep?" he inquired with an aura of excitement and a dab of taunt.

The kind of speech that infuriates relatives far more than any yelling or snarling; it was a haughty, demeaning attitude that oozed superiority.

A certain black dragon took a deep breath to calm himself. His left ear continued to twitch. "Maybe half the night."

One of Snotlout's piggy, pink fingers calmly rubbed his chin and he said, with disappointment drawing itself into his features, "Well, aren't dragons noc…nocturtle…"

"Nocturnal?"

"Yeah that. You know, only sleep during the day or something?"

"I can assure you exhaustion was not the issue – your inability to cease making rambunctious, inarticulate noise, however, was," Hiccup said in a calm, dry voice. His ear twitching accelerated.

This time, the smugness of Snotlout became almost tangible and Hiccup could practically taste the foul substance slithering on his tongue. The Night Fury gagged.

"Don't worry, next time I'll keep you up the whole night," Snotlout said. "Still getting used to the technique Spitelout taught me, but once I do, you won't get a wink of shuteye. Got to toughen you up." The Viking punched the palm of his hand.

Hiccup's glare could have melted the sun itself. "If I ever learn how to breathe fire, I'll make sure the two of you become fast friends," the Night Fury hissed through clenched teeth.

Snotlout drifted out of the room with an overly cheerful strut that made Hiccup want to bite something. Hard.

The sounds of rustling cloth, creaking old wood, and murmured exclamations from Snotlout floated through the small house in distracting fashion, but it was the aroma of delicious food – Hiccup could feel the piquant salt like it was hugging his nose – that woke up the black dragon quicker than a torrential downpour.

"You have any idea where Dad is?" the voice of his cousin called from the other room.

Normally, Hiccup was never one to perpetuate conflict; it was always better to approach the problem from the side with reinforcements and an easy escape. But after hearing that roaring idiot for most of the night, Hiccup decided to make an exception. He said, baring rows of crystalline teeth in-between his words, "If you weren't a lazy, repulsive child, you would know that he already left."

"Lazy? I'll show you lazy," his cousin barked from the other room.

Hiccup sighed. He mostly like was going to pay for his comments in the future, but the dragon couldn't bring himself to care. However, he did care about that food, that tantalizing, mouthwatering, exquisite cuisine in the other room.

With a deep breath, Hiccup felt his heart increase from a dull beat to a hearty thump as it prepared to force warm, invigorating blood to answer the call from his thirsty muscles.

Hiccup stood up.

Well, he attempted to stand but like some dull flashback in an overly long story, he didn't even make it halfway before he collapsed down with a muffled thud.

But unlike the day before, his ailment wasn't due to mental disconnect or the absence strength but rather because his legs were somehow trapped underneath him. Somehow, the blankets had managed to knot in a way that refused to relent like a mother terrified for her only child.

Hiccup tried to stand once more, but the cocoon of cloth seemed to tighten and Hiccup collapsed down unable to break its embrace.

"Are you stuck?"

Faster than a hawk, Hiccup's green eyes snapped up toward the disturbance. His cousin's head leaned out of the doorway and watched his struggles with a boisterous, wacky grin.

Of all the situations he didn't want his cousin to catch him in, being held down by a pile of inanimate fur and cotton was definitely near the top of the list.

"No!" he screeched, the sound far different, more ear grating than anything a human could create.

Hiccup grinded his teeth, taking note of how much harder it was with sharp fang-like incisors than with the smooth ones he had as a human. With concentration that would stare down a God, the black dragon forced his body to obey his command. The blankets resisted, attempting to pull him down like a stretched out rubber band. The cocoon's force was great. But Hiccups will was greater. Or so he thought.

"Who's lazy now? You can't even get out of bed," his cousin mocked in-between his roaring guffaws.

Suddenly the suffocating pull of the prison became too much and clamped down. It just so happened, that the Night Fury was slightly off balance. Off balance just enough that when the blankets constricted, Hiccup fell off to one side and partially rolled over.

The blob of blankets shook and roared like a thunderstorm as Hiccup thrashed around. One black wing, the left one, could be seen sticking out of the chaos preventing the dragon from flipping over completely.

In time, Hiccup's flailing calmed down; the pile was calmly rising and falling with the dragon's labored breath. Naturally, the hoard of cotton still trapped him.

Snotlout clutched his chest in pain as tears rained from in his eyes and laughter exploded from his mouth. One beefy arm rose up and wiped the moisture away, leaving his rough, lightly scarred skin dry.

"Stop laughing!" Hiccup said with a vicious growl. If Snotlout wasn't so lost in the land of his mirth, the Viking might have taken note of the hostility; it was savage and dangerous, far more so than any action the small Night Fury had uttered previously, but as it were, Snotlout only notice of the words themselves.

"Or what?" the young Viking mocked. "You'll roll over me? You can barely walk, much less run – you can't even get out of your nest."

Hiccup glared daggers at his host, "It's not a nest!"

Snotlout raised a solitary eyebrow and carefully examined the huffing and puffing mountain of blankets. "You're acting strange – aggressive and stuff. It's actually pretty awesome. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," the dragon practically shouted.

"You sure? If you say please, I could always help."

"I don't need your help." Hiccup made sure to accent 'your' harshly.

"Really? Looks to me like the baby dragon needs his mommy," Snotlout cooed with an obnoxious smacking of his lips.

"That's it. Learning to breath fire is now my number one priority. And you're going to help me with it."

Snotlout had the audacity to erupt into laughter as if the Night Fury had uttered some great, comical epic. Sometimes, Hiccup simply loathed Berk.

Speaking over Hiccup's growling, Snotlout said, "It's so small and so angry. Too cute." Only a Viking could make the word _cute_ sound like a vicious and degrading insult. With one last raging snicker, Snotlout turned his attention back to his meal, the meal that was still teasing Hiccup's nose like a bird fluttering just outside the range of a snake. Eventually it would waffle close enough. And when it did…a creepy smirk emerged on Hiccup's face.

Sunlight started to flood into the house. The warm rays of holy radiance replaced the foggy, gray ambiance of the morning in what should have been a comforting jester. Of course, the sun was also casting strange, disturbing shadows from the various antlers, heads, and other trophies in the room that made Hiccup feel as if he were drowning in despair.

The Night Fury wiggled furiously as the light slowly washed over him.

Unexpectedly, the crow of a rooster cut through the air as if razor-sharp glass edged the call. It was far, far too loud. Hiccup winced then snarled out feverishly "I'm going to end that rooster! Is it related to Víðópnir or is it just a mutated freak?"

A brusque voice, as if irritated, called from beyond the room, "What are you blabbering about now?"

For a second time, the rooster sang to greet the new day. Although, this time it didn't feel nearly as irritating to his ears and Hiccup briefly wondered if he had over exaggerated its vivacity in his mind or if the bird had somehow lost ten decibels. Still, in the end, the Night Fury figured it didn't really matter.

Hiccup called out to his cousin, "That rooster has accomplished the impossible. It's twice as annoying as you."

"Not the stupid bird, the Vido-thingy or whatever you said."

Hiccup's green eyes blinked. "You don't know who Víðópnir is?" he asked.

When no response answered the young dragon, Hiccup let out a bark of laughter. "You really are uneducated swine."

"Aren't you such nice, little dragon in the morning?"

The rest of the morning passed in a similar manner: arguments broke out, jokes were made, and jabs were thrown – thankfully, only figuratively.

As they bickered, Snotlout rushed around the like a worker ant gathering various things – weapons mostly. He would examine them, let out a puff of discontent or a contemplative groan before discarding them where they would fall to the chipped, wooden floor with a clang, thump, or bump.

As he watched Snotlout, Hiccup's predicament hardly changed, regardless of how much he struggled, he was still wound up like the sails on a stranded boat. He longed to be free, but the wind had abandoned him.

The Night Fury's stomach gave a huge lurching complaint. The throngs of hunger were steadily gaining ground. Hiccup's ears drooped and he sighed loudly.

"I'm hungry," the Night Fury casually informed Snotlout as he passed.

Without breaking stride or even sparing a glance, the Viking said, "Then get something to eat."

"That's a bit hard at the moment."

"Guess you're dead then." There was not a single dab of emotion invested in Snotlout's voice.

"You're supposed to take care of me!" Hiccup shrieked.

"Do I look like your mother?"

The blankets shuddered venomously as the dragon processed the words that just entered his ears. "Thankfully, no."

Bent over something out of the small dragon's line of sight, Snotlout sarcastically, his voice empty, said, "Ha, ha. You're so witty, Hiccup."

Standing up straight, Snotlout walked into a side room, the treasure cove of smells and ethereal pleasures. As he entered, he called over his shoulder, voice calculating, "I'll tell you what, I'll leave some food in here for you. If you can manage to stop being so clingy and pathetic, maybe you'll muster up the strength to get it.

Hiccup licked his lips and tried, once again, to stand. The blankets, if anything, seemed to have gotten tighter.

"Gee, thanks!" the dragon replied in false gratitude. Cutting the blankets with his claws did no good – not because they weren't sharp enough but because they were somehow knotted in such a way that his claws couldn't even reach anything to cut. Naturally, for everyone else, the chances of something similar happening would be infinitesimal; for Hiccup, it was almost guaranteed.

"No problem, human or dragon I look out for my family. Although, you being a dragon is gonna be useful." As he spoke, Snotlout strolled toward the front door, dressed none the different than what Hiccup was used to: a green undershirt, fur vest and his horned helm with his mob of hair sprawled out in all directions. He carried an axe that was, in Hiccup's esteemed opinion, not very impressive.

His cousin continued talking, "I'm starting dragon training today and it'll be so nice to practice all the cool stuff I learn on an actual dragon at home!"

Opening the intricate, heavy door, Snotlout glanced toward the sun and took note of its position. He grimaced. "Crap, running late. I got to go but don't let that cute little head droop, we'll spend some _quality_ time together when I get back."

Hiccup would have chastised him for talking with the door open – it was far too easy for anyone to overhear – but he was far more concerned with the content of the young, wannabe-dragon-slayer's words.

In what he prayed wouldn't become a habit, Hiccup spoke out loud to himself, "I don't know whether to be annoyed that Snotlout made a compelling, intelligent threat; impressed by said fact; or terrified that he will probably follow through with it."

A voracious sigh filled the room. Hiccup laid his head down on the soft bedding underneath him as his tongue tickled the backs of his smooth teeth. His stomach voiced another complaint.

Suddenly, like he was bit in the butt by a bug, Hiccup quickly tried to stand as his eyes expanded rapidly. If he had access to his front legs, he probably would have smacked himself on the head.

"Wow, good job Hiccup, it only took you all morning to remember that dragons have sharp teeth." the dragon, once again, spoke only to himself.

Without further ado, Hiccup twisted his neck, bit down on the blankets, and whipped his head as hard as he could. As if he was cutting a leaf with a sword, the cloth severed with surgical precision – it didn't rip; instead, it sliced right through, not even leaving so much as a frayed edge.

Hiccup blinked in surprise with pieces of brown fur sticking out of his maw as if he had just savagely ripped some cute helpless critter to shreds.

Then, with a beastly roar, Hiccup launched his fury unto his fluffy enemy. In but a moment, the mountain turned into a multicolored cloud as pieces flew through the air in disarrayed, chaotic circles like a group of flies.

Any observer would have sworn that you could hear something, a whisper in the wind – like the flap of a butterfly's wings – that called for mercy, for forgiveness, to be left in less than four dozen pieces.

Hiccup was having none of that. And far too soon for the Night Fury's satisfaction, the once proud array of furs and woven cloth lay in disheveled pandemonium.

Of course, if the dragon took a minute to pause and think about it, he would have realized that the new shredded bedding looked far more like a nest than before. Thankfully, Hiccup, his eyes filled with joyous energy so potent it caused his eyes to sparkle as if dragon fire lit them, failed to make the connection.

The huffing dragon, standing tall and proud like a fluffed up chicken, looked down at his four different legs in poorly concealed amazement. He was standing yet his legs were not shaking like twigs in a hurricane.

Letting out a yip, like that of a small dog, Hiccup rushed toward the ambrosial scent that was still meandering through the air, rich and pure, without a care in the world. It was making Hiccups mouth water so much it had to be some form of torture.

After a few steps, accompanied by the sliding of sharp claws on wood, reality came barking. Hiccup felt his muscles quiver as if someone ripped through his skin and plucked the ligaments like the strings of a musical instrument. Only this song involved the pained gasping of a dragon and the heavy thud of a body collapsing.

Groaning, Hiccup closed his eyes briefly and let the fire in his legs cool down. His brain processed that hauntingly beautiful yet perilous smell, and it felt as if someone dropped his legs into buckets of ice-cold water.

Once again, Hiccup went to stand. There was trembling and struggling, but the young Night Fury managed to get on all fours. Hiccup took a moment to gather his breath, his back arched high and his head low to the ground.

This time, the dragon resisted the impulse and took his time as he approached the side door. His claws clicked on the ground as he walked, the sharpness of sound betraying their deadly power.

Reaching the door, Hiccup forced it open with the snout of his nose. Saliva from Hiccup's slightly ajar mouth splatted down onto the wooden floor like oversized raindrops.

The click, click, click of his claws continued as the dragon walked into the small storage room.

It was an unremarkable room. A few stools that looked to be nothing more than converted tree stumps, a rickety table, and a series of ramshackle cabinets, covered by rags and old furs. The carpentry was, unlike the main living area, atrocious. Yet, regardless of that, Hiccup felt something in the ambiance as if he were invading sacred ground – a place with a memory that would never die. It was a strange feeling, one that made the dragon shutter in shame and tickled his nose; the chill swept from his wings to his tail like he was betraying the trust of an old friend.

Following his nose, Hiccup located the food that his cousin had left for him. A salted fish, most likely a Herring, rested far beyond his reach on the highest cabinet. For a brief second, the black dragon looked at his wings with a quizzical tint in his eyes before erupting into laughter. Like that would ever work.

One thing was for sure: Hiccup was going to get back at his cousin for this. How in the world was he supposed to get up there?

The next half hour was an adventure that even the greatest of sages could not hope to recreate. Blood was shed, battles were fought and victory was snatched from the jaws of defeat.

In the end, Hiccup got his fish. A morsel of such sapidity, the result was a tear-jerking season of soul searching. Well, maybe not that good, but it was delicious nonetheless.

Sure, he could have grabbed something else, like the bread or fruit sitting around but it just seemed wrong, kinda like stealing. Well, it didn't matter now and such a dilemma was no longer resting on his mind. Nor was the completely obliterated room he had left in his wake; Hiccup had had to get creative to get up on the cabinet and well, his claws just happened to be sharp.

Instead, he was reminiscing about something else. During his escapades, while cursing at the remains of a stool – it had been an accident – Hiccup felt something build in his throat. A thick, invasive something like a huge, sticky clump of guck and grime that was forcing its way out of his mouth. Hacking, Hiccup had emanated some strange, foul-odored, green vapor. If felt a bit like throwing up – even the bubbling heat in his stomach had felt similar but rather than completely terrible, the sensations had felt almost natural.

Hiccup had not a clue what had triggered it, and he had, for the next few minutes, tried to reproduce the sensation. Nothing had appeared.

As he laid on the ground, recovering from the war with the fish – Hiccup wasn't sure his bodily pain would ever concede – he reflected on his discovery. Honestly, the dragon wasn't sure he wanted to delve deeper at all. He had no doubt what it would lead to, but…the thought terrified him.

A large, black tail periodically thumped on the floor.

Regardless of what he had threatened his cousin with, regardless of what he had said or thought previous, the idea of breathing fire was too…dragon to handle. As if doing so was admitting his failure as a human. Hiccup didn't want to be able to breathe fire at all.

He just wanted to be ordinary. Even if he was a completely ludicrous, incompetent Viking that everyone hated it was still better than this asinine situation.

Ignoring the protests of his sore body, which was throbbing so hard it felt like some supernatural force was using it like a drum, Hiccup stood and slowly shuffled away. His downcast wings, sprawled out on either side of him as he dragged the appendages along the ground, made a bizarre scraping sound against the wood.

His clicking footsteps led him to a small, narrow passage that angled up. The darkness within was hardly a problem - Hiccup's green eyes illuminated like little candles in the waning light.

With herculean effort, Hiccup started to ascend the rickety, rotten, wooden steps. He ignored the creaking and crying of the cramped, uneven platforms as his frame slowly and inelegantly dragged itself upward. His destination was a small attic, one that he had frequently visited when he was younger and forced to _hang out_ with his cousin. It had been, by far, the best place to dodge Snotlout who seemed to avoid the place as if it had killed his pet puppy. It had taken years, but Hiccup was certain his cousin was scared of the spiders. He had no idea why. Hiccup didn't mind spiders: they were easy to live with. Leave them alone and they returned the favor. Simple.

Why Hiccup spent so much energy to reach his destination was simple: in the attic, the wood separated just enough that he would be able to look outside without worrying about anyone seeing him in return.

There was just enough space for the dragon to gawkily crawl around so he headed for the side that would let him look out over Berk. As he crept, the dragon's black wings bumped into the ceiling with creaky thuds. A few times he felt something sticky and resilient grab hold of the leathery limbs, but the webs were far too frail and quickly tore apart. Hiccup sent a silent apology to the spiders that had toiled over the silky threads.

At the end of the attic, narrow rays of light forced their way through the cracks and lined the black dragon like the bars of a prison cell. Squeezing his face against the wood, feeling the splintery edges rub against his hardened scales, Hiccup peered into another world. A world that he knew yesterday yet was alien today.

Berk wasn't the most impressive of villages. She was full of broken-down buildings and random pieces of debris. The dragon raids saw to it that anything new fell into a state of disarray faster than not and the efforts of fixing everything was far too great. So only the necessities were fixed. Have a roof that keeps the rain out? You're good. Have somewhere to sleep that isn't the floor? You're doing better than good.

But those imperfections are what gave Berk its charm. It was easy to remember the good like the time when Stoick single-handedly fought off two Nightmares to save the tiny schoolhouse. The charred wood still rested there to this day – forever reminding kids of his heroics.

Of course, it was easy to remember the bad too. It was strange in a way. This town changed so fast – one day a building would be there and that night it would collapse in an inferno – yet Berk's memory seemed infinite.

Today was not particularly remarkable; most of Berk's warriors were out hunting for the nest of their mortal enemies, but something about it made Hiccup's heart hurt far more than any spear ever could.

Maybe it was the bickering of the elders near the entrance of the mead hall or the squabbling of children playing in the mud fighting over what seemed to be a strangely colored stone. Or maybe it was Vikings themselves – the way they stood up tall and dared the world to throw haymakers their way. After all, they knew they could take them and dish it back tenfold.

Or maybe it was the smell. Vikings had never been the most hygienic of creatures, an idea that was apparent even when Hiccup was still human, but now, with his strong nose, the smell was almost overpowering. Full of sweat, salt, week-old dirt, and whatever else had crawled into their skin, the smell was like rotting flesh – pungent and nauseating. It was detestable, yet, there was this edge to it; a twist that had a flavor that was familiar and calming.

Hiccup banged his head against the wood and spoke aloud, "If only I hadn't gone after that darn Night Fury! What did I think was going to happen? That I was going to shoot it down and become a hero?

A single sloppy tear forced its way out and rolled down the dragon's muzzle, down the old wood where it disappeared into the dry surface for all eternity.

"Why me? Why now? Why not when I'm old and infirm? After I had proved myself to my father, to Astrid, to everyone." The dragon's body began to tremble. "I never got to tell Astrid how I felt. Maybe if I wasn't such a coward, I-"

The dragon never finished his speech and broke down into hearty sobbing. His body shook the wood viciously, undoubtedly dislodging dirt into the room below him. Hiccup didn't even have the energy to be pissed at his tears like a real Viking. The entire situation was just so exhausting that the Night Fury let the tears fall without complaint.

Through his blurry gaze, Hiccup glanced, as much as possible, to the sky and pleaded to the gods, "If you can hear this, please give me more time! A few more years! Even a few months! That's all I ask – turn me back into a human for a few more months and I will wear this with skin for as long as you want!"

The only answer he received was the harmonious tweeting of a bird nearby.

"Please! A day! Anything!"

Across the air, likely pulled by the wind, Hiccup could hear the diluted roar of what must have been a dragon. It came from the Kill Ring, out of his sight, where his peers were learning to fight the creatures.

Hiccup wished he could join them. Not because he would be any good, he would probably drop his shield and end up pinned by the beast, but because it was where he belonged.

Hell, he would give anything to even be able to hold a shield again.

No longer shaking, the Night Fury ignored the stream of moisture falling down his face and said, "I don't want to be a dragon." His voice was so minute, even the Gods wouldn't have been able to hear it.

But no matter how long he sat there, a dragon that didn't know how to use his wings, breathe fire, and could barely walk, no spectral presence or heavenly force answered his conundrum. Instead, he lay abandoned in a dark, dusty corner with only spiders for company.

Eventually, after far too much time had passed, Hiccup's sobbing, which would erupt periodically, morphed into a chortle of sorts. Hollow laughter intermixed with depressing cries that concatenated into a creepy, hair-raising sound.

"This is so stupid."

Lifting a paw to his face, Hiccup cleared the moisture that had dried to his scales. He was shocked to notice the time of the day. The sun was already starting to turn the sky orange and red. The ocean reflected its brilliance like that of a good, obedient worker and its rich, bright colors danced with regal authority.

Hiccup was so sick of being weak, of being worthless. It was like a never-ending curse. Just when things were starting to look up, Hiccup had to go and somehow, someway grow wings, a tail, and scales – itchy scales. What were the chances of that?

A sigh accompanied the thumping of his tail.

"No more," Hiccup said in a hoarse voice.

Logically, he knew that if transforming into a dragon, regardless of how such wizardry was performed, was possible, there must be a way to reverse the effects. And becoming human again was a battle worth fighting.

The small Night Fury didn't care if he had to punch a God in the face – he would restore his humanity. And once he did, everyone who doubted him would learn just how big of a mistake they had made – especially that hag, Brynhilda.

Hiccup left the dark, cramped attic.

There was a thin film of dust on the main floor that the Night Fury promptly ignored. Instead, he headed over toward the remnants of his blankets and collapsed down onto them. The toils of the day, both physical and mental, bore down on him. Eyes fluttering closed, much-needed sleep soon found the young dragon.

Of course, as par the course, before his body could fall into a truly deep sleep, someone kicked him, hard, in the side.

Flinching, Hiccup rolled over in pain and snapped his green eyes open.

The figure looming above him was that of a Viking. Their fur vest was in tatters and their hair was frazzled even more than normal. No axe nor helm was anywhere to be seen. Snotlout was home.

"What is your problem?" Hiccup hissed up at his cousin as he gingerly rubbed his side.

Snotlout merely grunted and strolled away. To the casual observer, his gait would have never betrayed his emotions but Hiccup knew the signs: the slight shuffle of his feet, the twitching of his left eye, the frown that would appear when he thought no one was looking, the acts of bravado.

Oh yes, Snotlout was like an open book if one knew the language.

Feeling better than he had all day, a smirk blossomed on Hiccup's face as he joyously said, "I knew training was going to go well, but never in my dreams did I image it would go that well!"

Like the string of a bow, Snotlout's shoulders tightened as the Viking took breath. Furious, with a reddened face, the young man turned and growled at the ecstatic dragon whose tail was slightly wagging back and forth.

"What? Don't talk about things you know nothing about." Snotlout puffed up his chest. "I was amazing. Everyone was so impressed, but that's not a surprise. Anyone with half a brain knew I was going to kick tail."

Forcing his mirth to die in his throat, the Night Fury bobbed his head and mumbled out a murmured agreement.

Snotlout screamed, spit spraying from his mouth, "It's the truth! I was the star."

Drops of soggy saliva splattered on Hiccup's nose. Going cross-eyed, the dragon recoiled in disgust when he realized the fluid contained something green, likely mucus, in it. His tail froze in mid wag and the dragon rapidly shook his head to clear the parasite from his head. Glaring at the offender, Hiccup bit out, "I agreed with you, you idiot."

"You're the idiot, face-butt," Snotlout retorted.

"How articulate."

Ignoring the dragon, Snotlout stomped toward the storage room grumbling and making choking gestures with his hands as if he were wringing imaginary rabbits. Snotlout forced open the door and paused. Soon after, the Viking let out a squawk of indignation.

"What did you do," Snotlout screeched and rapidly, as if whirlwind caught him, flipped around. "Dad's gonna kill me when he gets back!"

Snotlout grabbed his hair, small strands poking out through his fingers in all directions.

Hiccup thought the cactus was an improvement and was about to tell Snotlout as such when he noticed the teenage Viking's right middle finger was twitching. That was never a good sign. Nor was the piercing, petrifying glare. A glare so intense, Hiccup swore he could hear thuds outside as birds collapsed from heart attacks.

With only two parts panic, Hiccup – his green eyes scanning for available escape plans – quickly spouted off his defense, "Don't look at me, you practically told me to do it!"

Time froze and the black dragon could feel his cousin's heart beat increase from a rapid thudding to an overzealous continuous blur. It was a like a swarm – impossible to differentiate the individual pests.

"WHAT!"

The antlers hanging on the walls rattled and Hiccup winced in discomfort.

"Remember, and I quote, 'If you can manage to stop being so clingy and pathetic, maybe you'll muster up the strength to get it,'" the dragon said.

Snotlout growled. "You're not getting out of this without a pounding but you better stop. It could get far worse."

It's what Snotlout always resorted to: if it didn't work, hit it. And if it still didn't work? Hit harder. Of course, his elders encouraged such tendencies, as it was, according to them, the mark of a true Viking.

Hiccup snorted aloud and rolled his eyes.

He hated that patriotic barbarism, that idiocy. So before he could stop himself, he bit the feeding hand.

"Yeah, you're right," Hiccup said with a silky purr. "I could be stuck with you."

Instead of responding, Snotlout's hand snapped out and grabbed something on the nearby wall. Barring it over his head, the handler, wearing a murderous expression, took a nefarious step toward the resting dragon.

A dragon that was resting no more. Eyes bulging, wings flaring, and tail standing at attention, Hiccup, in a high-pitched whine, said, "That's an axe, Snotlout!"

Scrambling, Hiccup's claws dislodged shreds of cloth in a flurry. He did his best to ignore the agonizing residual pain from earlier in the day as he forced his body away from his disarranged foe.

An animalistic growl accompanied the axe-wielding maniac as he jumped forward toward Hiccup who had tried to put a chair between them.

"Yeah, it's dull so it's not gonna kill you." With a roar of adrenaline, Snotlout's muscles bulged with effort as the Viking brought the axe down and cleaved the chair in two. He barely missed Hiccup.

"Stay still and take your punishment like a Viking!" Snotlout yelled as he followed the retreated dragon.

A few thoughts crashed into Hiccup's cognizance: first, that was NOT a dull axe; second, why in the world would Snotlout get all hustle and bustle about the store room's crappy furniture getting a scratch then carve up the high-quality stuff like it was a pig; and third, how best to dodge his cousin's wraith.

This time, Hiccup took refuge under a table, and cautiously eyed his furious assailant.

"Stop hiding and let me hit you!"

Once again, with a deep breath, Snotlout shouted glory as he brought his axe down on the table. This time, the cut was not clean. Instead, it splintered as if the gods had slammed the earth – a long zigzagging crack from one end to another. The table stood strong, it just happened to have an axe lodged in it.

Snotlout did not give up easily. Therefore, he tried again. It just so happened that when he lifted the axe, the table came with it too.

"Get away from me," Hiccup yelped as he scurried away, his claws digging deep into the floor ripping out entire chunks of wood.

The table proved too bulky for the raging monster so he abandoned it in favor of another, much larger, axe. Light bounced off its edge in a pretty twinkle.

Deep down, Hiccup knew that Snotlout would not kill him but the side of an axe smashing into him was not a fun experience nor was it something he wanted to associate with. He already had far too much experience playing this game. He usually lost.

Midway through the room, Hiccup collapsed to the floor in a heap, breathing hard. His legs hurt so bad, like acid was burning them from the inside out – he simply couldn't move anymore. Small, cloudy bubbles appeared in his vision, swimming from the perimeter inward as everything started to blur.

Soon, in only a matter of seconds, the dragon's vision deteriorated into discombobulated blobs of color so when his cousin lorded over him and prepared to swing, Hiccup felt him more than saw him. Terrified, Hiccup did the only thing he could and swung his right paw out, intending to push his offender away.

As a human, the effort would have been futile but as a dragon….

Hiccup's vision filled with red and he heard his cousin cry out and fall to the ground with a thud. The nearby clutter of an axe rang out too.

As if a bolt of lightning hit him, Hiccup's sight returned as one last surge of energy, accompanied by dread, filled him. But he didn't need to see to know what had happened.

The scent of copper and iron was in the air – a murky, dangerous odor that burned the Night Fury's nose.

Snotlout sat on his butt, lightly whining in pain, as he held the front of his face in both hands. In the crevasses of his fingers ran streams of crimson, steadily moving down his chin, his arms and all over. The worst was in the immediate vicinity – numerous droplets dotted the area as if a shower had occurred.

The back of Hiccup's mind snickered, telling him that this was what his cousin deserved for chasing him with an axe. What did he think was going to happen? But the rest of his horrified conscious squashed the life out of that thought.

"What…what did I do?" the dragon stuttered out in shock.

In the back of his mind, a voice rang out, reverberating off his skull in thick, thumping waves, "_He has zero control over his abilities and any warrior knows that someone who doesn't know how to use an axe is as much a danger to those around them as they are to those in front of them."_

At the time, the dragon had ignored the comment but now the old man's wisdom made itself startlingly clear.

"Are you okay?" Hiccup asked as he took one tentative step closer to his cousin.

For just a second, Hiccup saw fear flash behind the blue eyes in front of him. With one bloody hand, the Viking pushed the dragon away as he cried out, "GET BACK!"

The blood stuck to Hiccup's head – the metallic smell was so dominant, his stomach threatened to release its contents. Of course, the sticky substance on his front, right leg wasn't helping. Glancing down, his blood drenched claws made the reality seem far more daunting.

Lurching back, Hiccup whispered, "I'm a monster."

Snotlout rose to his feet, his breathing labored.

Hiccup didn't spare him so much as a glance – he was frozen like a statue, staring at the blood that dripped from his claws to the little puddles on the ground.

The Viking scrambled toward his discarded axe, his thoughts racing at a breathtaking pace. Suddenly, Snotlout thundered out, "YOU IDIOT!"

Snotlout's words were the hammer that chiseled the statue and Hiccup felt awareness flood his system.

But the Viking wasn't done. Although the next time he spoke, his voice was a tad bit calmer. "Why did you scratch my face? Why not my body or arm, maybe a leg but no; it had to be my face! Gobber is going to hound me about this and he will probably know it's from a dragon just by looking at it. Everyone is going to think I'm up to something now!"

Hiccup's eyes watched the cloth Snotlout was holding over his face slowly turn red.

"You're not worth this," the Viking snarled and turned on his heels.

With the slamming of a door, Hiccup was left alone.

For what must have been hours, Hiccup sat and stared at his drenched claw. The only act of the night's symphony was the owls; everything else was mysteriously silent.

Hiccup didn't need to wonder where his cousin went; it was obvious the young man had gone to seek a healer, at least initially. Those cuts would not be easy to close. But at least they would scar. Maybe Snotlout could tell the ladies he got mauled by a bear or something.

They would love that.

Hiccup snorted and immediately felt guilty and somewhat confused.

As a human, Hiccup had never been able to do any real damage to his cousin; yet as a dragon, when he barely knew how to move, he had critically injured him. Moreover, if those cuts had been a bit deeper…Hiccup rapidly whipped his head back and forth.

The difference in power was incredibly obvious, intoxicatingly sweet, and dreadfully terrifying.

In order to never accidentally hurt someone again, Hiccup needed to learn how to use this body, pestiferous wings and all. He could selfishly refuse no longer.

Additionally, Spitelout, who hated him in the first place, was the reason he wasn't shivering and dying in the woods. And he chose to repay him by nearly splitting his son's skull.

No wonder the man hated him.

He was a failure.

Well, that was going to change. Until he could find a way become human, he would accept his fate. He wouldn't like it and would let everyone know that profusely, but he would do it. He was a Viking and Vikings persevered.

A yawn leaked from Hiccup's mouth causing candlelight to bounce off his predatory teeth.

After cleaning himself to the best of his ability, Hiccup gathered as much of the shredded bedding as he could and pulled them in on himself to keep as warm as possible. Finally comfortable, his luminous green lights fluttered and dimmed.

It took the Night Fury a very long time to fall asleep. He would periodically twitch and roll over in his nest, trying to surround himself in the pile's claustrophobic embrace.

In all that time, the front door never once opened.

* * *

**Author Notes: **I feel like a must apologize for this incredibly late update. This story is broken into various arcs. As I had just finished the first one, I viewed this story with far less urgency. I meant to only take a month or two off before picking up the second arc but as other ideas grabbed hold, it became longer and longer. Eventually, I forced myself into picking this back up. Because of that, this chapter will feel a bit, as crazy as it sounds, rushed, but now that I am back in the groove things should be smoother.

This story will now update on a bi-monthly basis. I plan on releasing chapters every other Friday or Saturday.

As for the chapter itself: Hiccup's emotions were incredibly hard to write. After what he went through, he is confused and unstable – ranging from harrowing depression to unyielding anger.

The banter between Snotlout and Hiccup was a joy to write and I hope it roused a chuckle or two.

Edited on December 2nd, 2015


	8. Two Humps are Better Than One

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 6: Two Humps are Better Than One

* * *

The morning was a beautiful time: a time when the birds woke, young cheeping for mom; a time when the canvas of the horizon lit up the sky with warmth and cheer unparalleled.

Yet for all its promise and beauty, one small dragon watched the rising sun with trepidation tickling his bones.

Snotlout had yet to return.

Sleep had been difficult – a river with more turbulence than a stream after the winter melt.

Even in his short life, Hiccup was no stranger to restlessness at the cliffs of conscious but this was different. His wings kept twitching uncontrollably like they were prophets of some impending disaster.

Something bad was going to happen, of that, the dragon had no doubt.

Finally, two large, flappy ears perked up as a door slammed open, the old wood groaning in protest.

The strange tapping melody that had been dithering through the air from the dragon's claws stopped as if the life had been strangled out of it.

Faster than a blinking eye, Hiccup turned toward the door, hoping to see the troll-like visage of his cousin. He was not disappointed.

Hiccup opened his mouth to speak, but the expression on his cousin arrested his thought and dragged it from the forefront of his mind. The image of Snotlout's face wrapped and puffed up like a hubristic roaster didn't help either.

Before the young dragon could gather his thoughts, Snotlout, without a glance at the Night Fury, fumbled through the room and entered his own personal sanctuary. Another slam and solitude was the dragon's only companion.

Black wings drooped down to the ground as his ears sagged.

Looking down, the Night Fury traced out a long, curving scratch in the wood – likely from his work the night before. Once he finished his meticulous trace, he moved onto the next scar. After last night, there were more than enough to choose from.

Finally, after an intermediate amount of time, the door opened and Snotlout strolled out.

Ears perked tall, Hiccup took this chance and quickly addressed his peer before he would lose courage.

"Cousin, I'm sorry about, um, you know," the dragon muttered and lazily dragged his claw in a circle. Small, sting-like pieces of wood popped out.

Snotlout's shoulders tensed up and the young Viking whipped toward his guest as he harshly barked, "What are you talking about?"

Hiccup blinked once, then twice.

"Uh, last night with, uh, you know, uh, your face," the dragon said, stammering like a girl being asked on her first date.

The dragon wanted to throttle himself – why was it so darn hard just to say the stupid words. But no matter how much he tried to clear his throat, something thick and grimy, like a spider's web, seemed to block his verbiage.

Snotlout rolled his eyes in a causal jester, but Hiccup saw the muscles in his legs tense and could hear his heartbeat accelerate.

"My face?" the Viking said with gusto as he puffed up his chest. "Yeah, got these scars last night – was jumped by a dragon but it bit off more than it could chew. Should have known better than to try to take me down."

"Oh," Hiccup said, his deep yet strangely high-pitched voice barely audible.

Hiccup had never been in a more awkward situation with his cousin before and this included the time Snotlout had taken all his clothes while he bathed in a river. A memory that Hiccup tried to eradicate yet seemed to hang on to life like an infernal cockroach.

"Dragons should know better than to mess with me," Snotlout added with a wink; his eyes just barely visible between the bandages like a little pinprick.

A shiver ran through the dragon's spine like someone dragged a piece of ice slowly from the end of his tail to the tip of his snout.

Hiccup wasn't exactly sure what game his cousin was playing, but the entire situation made him feeling like slimy bugs were crawling and slithering through his veins.

Subconsciously, a black claw with razor sharp points started to tap into the old wood, starting off as nonsensical battering before turning into melodically swagger.

For the next hour or so, Snotlout worked on an axe, humming a terribly out-of-tune rhyme that ripped into the Night Fury's ears like a hoe on dirt. Hiccup just watched his cousin – his claws still taping away.

They didn't saw a word to each other until, with a growl and the scrap of a chair against wood, Snotlout rounded on his cousin.

"Okay, you're going outside."

Hiccup's claw paused in mid-tap and he eyed his cousin with wide eyes and a slightly shivering mouth.

"What?" Hiccup asked.

"You have been stuck in here forever and are not pissing on the floor like a baby. And your scratching is driving me crazy!" Snotlout said as he stomped over toward the dragon.

"Someone will see me!" Hiccup said as the shadow of his cousin fell over his prone form. Annoyed, the dragon stood up and perked up his head as high as possible. Sadly, his cousin was still taller.

"Out back is right by the forest. You know how thick the plants are – no one will see you unless you knock over a tree or something."

With a grunt, Snotlout bent over and grabbed the dragon around his midsection.

Eyes bulging, the dragon spoke with frenzy, "Don't you dare."

Snotlout ignored the remark and heaved the small dragon upwards. Hiccup, feeling his claws leave the ground, instinctively flailed them around in front of him. His claws swarmed like a hive of deadly bees. Thankfully, Snotlout was behind him.

"You need to lose some weight, fatty" Snotlout remarked as he adjusted the squirming dragon and headed toward the back door.

Hiccup fluttered his wings and hissed out, "Put me down! I can walk."

"Oh, can you?" Snotlout asked with more bite than a shark's jaw.

"I can walk to the door, at least!"

"Fine."

And with that, Snotlout let go of Hiccup, who came crashing down to the ground right onto of his left wing. It crumpled like a leaf under his weight.

Hissing in pain, Hiccup quickly forced his body off his wing and tentatively stretched it out. Small pinpricks of pain littered its surface but nothing searing tore through it.

Just to make sure it was okay, Hiccup gave the wing a few flaps before carefully folding it, well, attempted to fold it – it took the young creature a few times and some cursing before he got the motion correct.

Snotlout barked, "Now get out!"

Green, beautiful eyes locked in on the chubby finger that was pointing toward the back door.

Hiccup threw his snout into the air and said, with a snobby, childish bicker, "Maybe, I don't-"

"Now," Snotlout said with such power, Hiccup leaned back and his wings lightly twitched. Ruffling his nose, the dragon carefully watched the young Viking. Clenched fists, grinding of teeth – although it was slightly hard to see behind the bandages – and a body stiller than a statue were all clues to Snotlout's conviction, but it was his eyes that told Hiccup this was not something to trifle with. Fury, stronger than any beast, raged in those blue orbs.

And so, Hiccup slowly lumbered toward the door.

"I'm not a pet; you can't just order me around," Hiccup said.

Snotlout opened the door and pushed the dragon out of it with the heel of his foot.

"You need me to live," the adolescent said. "Sounds like a pet to me."

With a small cloud of dirt, Hiccup plopped onto the hard, cold ground.

"That's not true!" the dragon hissed as he turned back towards his oppressor.

Snotlout snorted loudly and slammed the wooden door shut. Carvings of dear and vines embroidered the dark, brown surface.

"So stupid," the dragon murmured under his breath as his eyes shifted to the immediate vicinity.

The area was indeed wooden but not to the extent that Snotlout had claimed. Hiccup stood in a small clearing, mostly devoid of grasses and shrubs, that contained two large, rotting stumps crammed full of critters and moss. There were also a few piles of metal scattered around in chaotic order. Large pine trees on all three sides bordered the tiny clearing, but the left and right sides only went one or two trees deep before opening up again. Thankfully, the lack of branches near the ground was filled with shrubby vegetation and grasses that made it difficult, but not impossible, to see through. The dark shapes of buildings could barely be made out between the brush.

Even so, it was far too exposed to give any comfort to the Night Fury. The smell of smoke, of iron, of Viking was far too potent. The noise didn't help either. Hiccup could hear at least three different conversations; not with clarity but as muddled clouds of muck and debris at the edge of his hearing range.

Cursing his cousin's stupidity, Hiccup took a tentative step forward. A branch snapped under his claw and the dragon froze – back arching high. A bird tweeted in a nearby tree; a worm poked its head out of the dirt.

After a moment, the Night Fury headed toward the thicker woods in the back – at least those went more than one or two trees deep. The brush there was exceedingly thick, like a Viking's beard – it was impossible to see the skin through the scruff.

Once in the shadows of trees, the dragon went about his business. Snotlout, much to the Night Fury's chagrin was right, the dragon did need to relieve himself.

Finished, Hiccup headed back toward his temporary sanctuary, not even taking a pause to investigate anything in the surroundings regardless of how the smells teased his nose.

Reaching the door, Hiccup paused and gazed at its rough, unpolished surface. The little dears were all lazily done with their legs and heads all varying in size and the vines looked as if someone attacked the wood furiously rather than crafted with painstaking precision.

Out of the corner of his eyes, the dragon noticed a small plant with only one green leaf on its stem. The plant was nestled up against the wood of the house, nearly suffocated by its presence.

Ignoring the worthless distraction, Hiccup told the door, careful to keep his voice a harsh whisper, "Okay, I'm done, now let me in."

No answer.

Sharp claws swiped against he door making a long, scathing sound as if a butcher were shredding the ears with a knife.

As he scratched at the door like some domesticated house cat, Hiccup slowly increased the power behind his voice.

"Come on, Snotlout. Let me in."

Behind the dragon, the bushes started to quiver as if something large was trespassing through them.

Hearing the disturbance, Hiccup stopped his assault of the wood and listened. Far too soon, the shrubbery quieted down but not before the shuffling noise had gotten close – far, far too close.

But more so than the sound, it was the smell that made horror morph on Hiccup's face. It was a smell that, while not unpleasant, was something familiar. Something he had first smelt when abandoned in the woods, a thick, earthy fragment with a slightly charred edge.

Frantically, Hiccup slashed at the door and yelped, "Let me in, you rotten piece of whale ass!"

Hiccup could feel the dust on the ground quiver as something walked up to him. Gulping, Hiccup slowly turned around.

He came face to face with his own mirror image like he was glancing at the water of a still lake. The reflectance was a bit larger than the original though.

The other Night Fury had found him.

Forcing his back up against the wood door, Hiccup watched the dragon with horror. Its eyes, the same lush green as his own, rapidly shifted over the younger dragon and soaked it in like a sponge. The beast took one thundering step forward.

Hiccup hissed and raised a claw threateningly. The other dragon rolled its eyes and sighed, before lightly growling under its breath like it was muttering to itself. The strange, almost human-like actions made Hiccup pause – his claw still raised in the air.

Then, just as with the last meeting, what felt like a spear was shoved straight into Hiccup's head. Strange colors flashed across his eyes like a film covering his vision. Collapsing at the feet of the other dragon, Hiccup let out a large whine of pain and covered his head with his front two legs as the agony tore through his mind like a tornado. Eventually, the pain became so intense that Hiccup couldn't hold it in anymore and let out a wounded howl that cried into the warm afternoon air.

Looking back in retrospect, Hiccup would often wonder how it was possible that he wasn't discovered then and there with the racket he made. Yet, for once in his short life, luck walked hand in hand.

Just as soon as the pain came, it abated and in its wake, the aliment left a terrible headache. Hiccup heard the door creak and snapped his exhausted eyes open. His cousin was standing over him looking down with bewilderment.

"What happened to you?" Snotlout asked.

Glancing around, Hiccup looked for the other dragon but not even a trace of its presence remained. He wondered how anything could move so darn fast.

Chest heaving, the Night Fury hoarsely, between strained breaths, said, "Was attacked."

Snotlout sneered. "By what, a butterfly?"

Hiccup should have known better than to expect sympathy from Snotlout. Growling, his strained breathing making it sound far less threatening, the dragon forced his quivering legs to stand and turned toward his cousin.

"If you-" Hiccup started before Snotlout quickly cut him off with a wave of his hand. Hiccup glared.

"Stop. I don't care what crap is going to come out of your mouth. I've got to go, dragon training and all," Snotlout said.

It was something the dragon had been wondering. Momentarily distracted, he opened his mouth to inquire just why training was so late today, but Snotlout forged forward like a man who had found their conviction and purpose in life.

"I didn't want to watch you in the first place, but I promised Dad – so I'm giving you one more shot. Mess it up and in Odin's name I'm going to…."

Nothing else needed to be said.

Soon thereafter, Hiccup found himself alone in the wooden residence with only his thoughts for company. And it was right about that time, that Hiccup decided he needed to do something or he was going to go crazy.

So over the next few hours, Hiccup focused on one thing only – producing that strange gas. He choked, gagged and coughed up disgusting, unrecognizable pieces of guck and grime that swam in small pools of saliva.

Yet, no matter what he tried, nothing seemed to make it tick and he wasn't sure he could handle much more.

With one claw rubbing underneath his muzzle, Hiccup sat contemplatively as new fish joined the ocean that was his mind.

"I wonder," Hiccup said aloud.

Once again, the dragon tried to bring up the gas. He could feel it inside of him, like a limb he could subconsciously control and as he pulled, it wiggled and snaked its way through his body. Soon, the strange substance shifted and he lost control of it. Instead of swimming through some other passage, it flooded into his trachea causing the dragon to sputter and cough as small wisps of gas floated out of his mouth.

The rest of the gas dispersed throughout his body. Hiccup could feel some of it retreat to where it had originated and some filter into his stomach that, by this point, was quite upset at its scaly host.

Groaning and rubbing his chest, the dragon rolled over onto his back. Glancing around, the dragon groaned even louder. The room was starting to bathe in darkness as night swiftly approached and swallowed the day.

Rolling over, the dragon dragged his, far too heavy, tail to the storage room to look for something to eat. Thankfully, the door was not fully closed and he was able to push it open with his snout. The room, a powerful concoction of smells, was still in the state he had left it the day before – in pieces.

Just as Hiccup located something to eat, the dragon stopped utterly, one claw still hanging in the air.

Hiccups wings unfolded and the dragon yipped with excitement; his tail started to wag back and forth. Once again, Hiccup tried to call upon the gas. This time, a blast of dull green and yellow gas burst from his black maw and drifted through the air.

A cheer erupted out. The young Night Fury had no plans to practice igniting the fuel, but at least this way he could theoretically control the stuff. Hopefully, this would mean he wouldn't accidentally cause something to explode.

Once again, the dragon called upon the gas. Giddy, as if the gas itself was forcing his cognition into an inebriated state, the dragon blew out the gas. Unlike other dragons Hiccup had observed – usually as they were chasing him – his own gas was not in a thick, controlled stream but rather waffled around like a dozen kids going anyway they pleased.

Still, the cloud's density was just high enough to see.

So caught up in his mirth and cheer, Hiccup didn't even register the approaching smell that he could have identified as Snotlout. Instead, when the young Viking blasted open the front door, the startled dragon viciously jumped and reacted instinctively.

Like a dry field of grass, the pear-colored substance suddenly ignited in a blazing mix of red and orange. Hiccup didn't have a clue how it happened, but as the flames quickly spread onto the wooden ground, he figured he had bigger worries. With vigor, the Night Fury rapidly looked around for something, anything, to stop the fire.

The fire quickly expanded to a nearby chair – that now had much larger problems than its missing leg. Hiccup did the only thing that came to mind. Taking a deep breath, he blew as hard as he could at the blaze. His intention had been to put out the flames, but they just used the encouragement to dance on the table. Soon the other chair joined in the festivities.

Snotlout's voice thundered into Hiccups ears from the main room. "Hiccup, do you smell smoke?"

The smell was so overpowering that it made Hiccup's eyes itch.

"No," the dragon screeched out in a panic. The fire, while hot, didn't seem to burn his body as it would have it he was human. So the dragon was trying to use his mass as a barricade. It wasn't working.

Over the crackling wood and swooshing flames, Hiccup was able to make out the creaking of wood under his cousin's weight as he walked. Snotlout was heading his way.

"What is going on?" his cousin asked, voice closer than before.

Just as his cousin reached the mostly-closed door, Hiccup shouted out, "Don't come in; I'm, uh…" the dragon mentally stumbled and said the only think that his mind could fabricate, "…naked."

The Night Fury winced.

"What?" Snotlout asked in poorly concealed disbelief.

Then, the door opened. By that time, the fire had claimed a wall and was progressing rapidly toward the ceiling. The flames contained traces of purple and the smoke made the room blacker than the darkest night.

Seeing his cousin standing in the doorway in shock, Hiccup rubbed the top of his head and casually remarked, "We might have a problem."

Blue eyes snapped, like a predator on prey, to the black Night Fury. Snotlout shouted, "MIGHT? MIGHT HAVE A PROBLEM?"

A flaming piece of wood fell from the ceiling and crashed next to Hiccup. Yelping, he jumped to the side.

Snotlout eyed the dragon with murder pouring from his eyes. It was then that Hiccup noticed the axe, shaking and quivering in his hand.

A dilemma, of which Hiccup never thought to experience, suddenly ripped through his mind. If Snotlout attacked, and the steam coming from his nose and ears seemed to point to the inevitable, Hiccup could stop him. It would be easy – with how much fire there was, all the dragon would have to do is call upon some of the gas and it would roast his cousin like a piece of chicken meat. If it as the only way to guarantee his safety, could the Night Fury do it? Would the Night Fury do it? Hiccup, honestly, wasn't sure.

And the uncertainty terrified him.

Before he could reach any semblance of a conclusion, his cousin, animalistic roar bellowing from his quivering lips, charged. Hiccup tensed, wings flaring up and instinctively called upon the reservoir of gas.

But it was the clang of metal that made Hiccup swallow the foul substance. An axe lay still on the ground – the fire around it bordering it like a work of art.

Snotlout rushed into the inferno, the smoke forcing the Viking to cough periodically and ran past the baffled dragon.

Mystified, the Night Fury hurried over to Snotlout, his wings dragging on the ground pushing shoot and ash in strange V-shaped patterns.

The young Viking threw open a small cabinet with so much force the wood snapped off its hinges and disappeared into the fire. Snotlout quickly started to rummage through the small cupboard.

Hiccup swiftly reached his cousin and tried to peer past his body, but the large boy obstructed his view.

"We need to get out of here," Hiccup said as he poked his cousin in the back with his snout.

Snotlout ignored the dragon. If anything, the ferocity of his search increased.

Hiccup was, strangely, content with the surroundings – it was uncomfortably warm like a hot day would have been as a human. But Snotlout's skin was turning an irritated red and the young male's coughing and sputtering were getting far worse.

Just then, with a sickening crack, part of the roof gave way above them. Snotlout, still stuck in his stanch daze, paid it no heed, but the dragon standing behind him snapped his gaze skyward. Small pieces of wood, burning with red and purple flames, plummeted down toward them. The sharp edges, threatening to skewer them, were of concern but if those flames landed on his cousin, they would burn the bandages around his head. At best, Snotlout would escape with severe burns.

Without even thinking, Hiccup threw his right wing over his kneeling cousin to shield him like a tree from the sun. The wood rained down; its momentum forced Hiccup's wing to collide hard onto the cabinet.

Miraculously, most of the wood that collided with his wing rolled off harmless, but some of it, three from what the dragon could feel, penetrated straight through his wing's membrane like a rock breaking through a thin sheet of ice.

Thankfully, the culprits were small in size and missed his cousin utterly. In fact, Hiccup barely noticed the pain.

The fire was about to light the last wall, trapping them inside.

"Snotlout, we have to leave, NOW." Hiccup yelled before gripping the back of his cousin's shirt with his teeth and pulling hard. The shirt ripped.

Without so much as a word, Snotlout retreated from the storage with something wrapped in his arms. He turned, and fled out of the room, coughing and wheezing all the while.

Hiccup followed his cousin straight out the back door into the little clearing he had been earlier that day. The fire made the waning twilight eerily dark.

Once free, the Viking fell to his knees and tried to stabilize his breathing. He was still holding the object that he deemed important enough to risk his life for. Hiccup still couldn't get a clear view of it.

It was then that the black dragon heard them.

Voices – voices that were getting closer.

Yelping, Hiccup tore up the soft ground with his claws as he quickly forced his way out of the clearing and into the edge of the nearby vegetation. Without even thinking, the dragon launched himself into the brush and out of view. Hiccup did his best to cover himself with anything: twigs, branches, leaves, dirt, whatever he could find. His cover was surprisingly passable but only if someone wasn't specifically looking for him.

Peaking in-between the brush, Hiccup was able to see his cousin's frame surrounded by the inferno behind him.

He could also see the object that Snotlout had risked his life for.

Hiccup never knew his cousin could be so stupid. No sane person would ever risk everything for something like that. It made no sense.

Then, Vikings, of all shapes and sizes, soon arrived vociferously shouting anything and everything. Hiccup heard Gobber yell out Snotlout's name before the one-legged man stumbled over toward the injured adolescent.

Over the next ten minutes or so, the Night Fury watched with increasing anxiety as the Vikings failed to put out the fire. It burned too quickly and intensity for the water to deal with. All the moisture seemed to do was slow it down.

Far too soon, a thunderous sound rang into Hiccups ears. It sounded a bit like the avalanche he and his dad had seen while hunting one winter. Massive pieces of wood crumpled and collapsed in on one another as if they were made of paper. In only seconds, all that remained was a jagged pile of wood, stone, fur and various other materials that in no way looked as if it could have been a house at one point.

One Viking, Hiccup had a hard time discerning his voice, commented angrily, "This was dragon fire."

Gobber filled in with, "Only a stronger dragon could have caused a fire like this. Perhaps it was a Nightmare."

Another Viking put his arm on Snotlout's shoulder, who was now sitting up. The Viking, who Hiccup was fairly certain was Blubberbreath, asked "What happened?"

"Came back. Smelt smoke," Snotlout responded.

Blubberbreath, who Hiccup loathed, open his mouth to speak but was interrupted by someone Hiccup hated on scale far beyond loathing.

A high-pitched yet rumbling voice belonging to none other than Brynhilda dominated the clearing, "Like a Night Fury?"

"Huh?" Gobber remarked as he gawked at the scornful woman.

Hiccup hated her. Oh so much. As he sat, unmoving, behind his pitiful cover, Hiccup had to prevent a growl from building in his throat.

Brynhilda, cheer radiating from her voice as if a house had not just burned down behind her, smugly asked, "You said fire like this comes from powerful monsters; what about a Night Fury?"

Gobber, missing exactly what the women was alluding to, shrugged his shoulders and said, "I guess, but I've never seen fire like this from the one around here. I thought they could only shoot those blue balls of death. Na, a Nightmare would make more sense."

With a frustrated snarl, Brynhilda turned toward Snotlout and in a voice that was strangely comforting – a touch that only a mother could provide – assured Snotlout, "It's alright son, you'll get your chance for revenge."

The black dragon's cousin just chuckled and gave her his thanks.

But Brynhilda was never one to be deterred and pushed on, "Getting attacked by dragons twice in as many nights – are you sure there's not something you want to tell us?"

Snotlout seemed to catch on to what she was really asking if the sudden tensing of his body was anything to go by. Hiccup almost smacked himself on the head – that was almost as good as a confession to the old hag.

A boisterous grin appeared on the obese woman's face as she smiled down at the younger Viking. But Hiccup wasn't fooled – he could see her twitching eye and tapping finger. Brynhilda was pissed.

"I'm sure we can all work it out," Bryhilda said as she kneeled down to get eye level with the sitting Viking. "After all, the people of Berk stick with their own kind."

Snotlout took far too long to respond. Instead, Hiccup's large, green eyes watched as his cousin glanced toward the ruins of his family's house then drifted to the object still in his hands. An expression of rage appeared.

At the same time, next to smoldering ruins and ash lay a small green plant with only one leaf. Somehow, someway, the little foliage had survived the rampaging inferno and with its triumph the small plant was finally forming a second leaf.

"Yeah, there is something…" Snotlout began, as he matched Bynhilda powerful gaze with a piercing one of his own.

Hiccup prayed to all the gods he knew.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hiccup isn't very good at this whole dragon thing eh?

I spent all day today grading essays and proofreading this. My mind is grammar shot so there are likely errors riddled throughout. I thought about postponing this chapter but figured what the heck so here you go.

I'll go through it again later.

Edited: December 3rd, 2015


	9. The Clock Hits Midnight

**Paradigm Shift**

Chapter 7: The Clock Hits Midnight

* * *

"Yeah, there is something," Snotlout said as he met Brynhilda's icy glare.

The young Viking paused for only a second before he said, voice shuddering slightly, "I lied yesterday."

Like a giant, evil cat, Brynhilda purred, "Is that so?"

Hiccup's wings and tail started to tremble; the leaves around him wiggled in response. The dragon forced himself to take a slow, silent, deep breath.

"Yeah," Snotlout said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I didn't run into the dragon on the way home from training. It was somewhere else."

Brynhilda's eyes sparkled and danced like fire on a torch. "Was it, perhaps, somewhere a bit more homely?"

Thankfully, Hiccup knew this region fairly well – he might be able to make a run toward the thicker woods behind him. But the chances of him outrunning the Vikings were practically zero. If only he knew how to fly. Hiccup cursed himself mentally; even his thoughts betrayed his nerves – the ideas rushed by in fuzzy, bewildered hazes.

Suddenly, like an arrow piercing Hiccup's heart, his cousin spoke, "What are you talking about?" The words bit like a snapping turtle. "Look, I was pissed yesterday, so I went looking for something to punch. Ran into a dragon and we had a scuffle." Snotlout punched the palm of his left hand. "Next time, I'll rip that stupid's lizard's nose off its face."

One of Hiccup's green eyes narrowed. Large, black ears perked up even higher.

Like two giant rocks rubbing one another, Hiccup could hear the grinding of Brynhilda's teeth. "What type of dragon was it?" she asked.

"Dunno, it was dark. Besides, who cares what the stupid creature was."

The grinding turned into growling, and Brynhilda, like the jaws of a crocodile snapped, "Let's talk about the here and now. Like, how about, we talk about the Night Fury that burned down your house?"

Gobber, examining a flaming piece of wood, said offhandedly, with a wave of a bulky arm, "We've been over this. A Night Fury didn't burn down the house – there is only one around here. The chances are tiny; a Monstrous Nightmare is far more likely."

Hiccup watched the large man; the light from the fire bounced off his gigantic frame and cast prancing shadows that looked like shape-shifting monsters in the night.

"There are two." Brynhilda wore a smirk.

Gobber blinked and turned toward the corpulent Viking, "Huh?"

The large, vindictive women sang, voice as sweet as a bird, "I was just correcting you is all. There are two Night Furies around, not one."

A loud crack thundered through the night, as Gobber snapped the flaming piece of wood in his hands. The two pieces fell to the dirt with a light plop. Hiccup could hear the one-armed Viking's heart rate accelerate as if it were an arrow shot out of a bow.

Gobber's voice was flat and unemotional, "You dare?"

At the same time, a chubby, snorting sound, like too much gunk was stuck in the nostrils, exploded out of Snotlout.

"Wait," Snotlout said with a snort. "Are you saying Hiccup burned down my house?" The young Viking rolled his eyes. "It would make sense if he weren't a spineless coward and an idiot."

Hiccup blinked from his hiding spot. His wings stopped twitching and his tail, which had been lightly tapping the ground, halted.

Gobber pointed at Brynhilda with a shaking arm. "You were at the meetin', Brynhilda!" the old warrior roared, before suddenly stopping. He raised his mechanical claw to his chin and rubbed thoughtfully. A smirk appeared on his face, and soon after the man spoke, this time with much calmer, almost mischievous tones, "Hiccup said he didn't know how to breathe fire. So, by saying that Hiccup learned how to in a few days, you're admitting you think he's competent. Right?"

Brynhilda's eyes opened comically wide, and the women hissed in displeasure. Hiccup swore he could see the hair on her head standing tall. "That's not what I said!"

Gobber just smiled. The kind of smile that only a winner can wear – a cheeky, egotistical, sneer-like grin.

The large women didn't immediately respond; instead, she glared at the deformed Viking with her frame shaking more than a tree in a hurricane.

"You can lie," Brynhilda snarled through clenched teeth as she furiously turned on Snotlout, "but you can't keep him hidden, nor safe, forever. The gods will smite you for your crimes, and I will laugh when that day comes."

And without another word, the women stomped away from the still-burning wreckage. Hiccup could feel her thuds on the earth long after she disappeared from the eerily red-orange glow of the fire.

"Just what did she mean by that?" Gobber asked with a blink.

Snotlout turned to the larger Viking and shrugged, but Gobber wasn't even looking at the teenager; he as still looking in the direction Brynhilda had disappeared.

For some reason, Hiccup found his breath even shakier as he lay in the itchy dirt. The black dragon closed his eyes.

"So what are you going to do now?"

Green orbs snapped open, and Hiccup peered between the vegetation. Gobber was talking to Snotlout with a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Dunno,"

"Well, you could always crash at my place for a bit. But I warn ya, there is this smell; I might-"

Snotlout looked down at something in his hands and said, with far more emotion in his voice than normal, "I was thinking…."

Gobber waited a moment but when the young Viking didn't continue, he prompted with, "Yeah?"

"About going to The Outpost." Hiccup's cousin shrugged.

The Outpost was nothing special. When both Stoick and Spitelout were far younger, they had decided to build a cabin the woods by themselves. Not thinking it through, the two had constructed the small, wooden lean-to only a few miles from Berk. The proximately made it practically worthless, but Snotlout and his friends loved going there and toughing it out alone in the wilderness. Hiccup avoided it like the plague.

Still, Hiccup had to applaud his cousin; it was a decent place to go at the moment. Of course, with winter coming, the dilapidated structure was not a long-term solution but it would give them time to think.

"Huh? The Outpost?" Gobber asked. "Why?

Once again, Snotlout looked down at something he was holding and rubbed it with the care of a bird protecting its nest. "You know."

This time, Gobber noticed what Snotlout was holding, and a nostalgic frown arose on the large Viking's plump face. Gobber clapped Snotlout's shoulder with thunderous force.

"I understand." Then in little more than a whisper, Gobber continued, "You want me to come? Promise, I won't tell nobody." The voice was so quiet that Hiccup only made it out because he was no longer shackled to his human senses.

Snotlout shook his head. "Nah, it's fine. I want the time alone."

Gobber smiled as if proud. "Sure thing, but I will be checking up on you in the morning. Just promise me, you'll stick to the trail – your father would kill me if anything bad happened to you."

Any reasonable person wouldn't let Snotlout, who was obviously emotionally distraught, go wandering in the woods alone. Thankfully, Gobber was a Viking and Vikings were not prone to the wisest of decisions.

Thank Odin for small favors.

It took a long time for the Vikings to vacate the area: at least an hour, maybe more. In that time, the fire had consumed the entire structure like a Viking at a feast – even the crumbs were gone.

Eventually, the smells of sweat and body odor disappeared and were replaced by a light burning sensation that tickled Hiccup's nose. Only then was he confident enough to leave his hiding place.

Sneaking through Berk wasn't hard; Hiccup had already been on the edge of the woods, so all he had to do was follow them up and out of the town. Still, the actions were exhausting and the young dragon found himself breathing hard as he left the town behind.

Hiccup had no idea where Snotlout was and decided that simply heading toward The Outpost would have be the best move. He followed one of the many roads out of Berk, the most direct one to his destination: a winding trail that went up toward the pass in the north. The bumpy path was narrow and edged by conifer trees and spiky-tickly shrubs.

After a few minutes, the black dragon spotted his cousin on the road ahead, sitting on a large gray rock. It was dark but Hiccup managed to make out the teenager with no problem. The eerily glow of the moon above helped.

Snotlout looked defeated: his shoulders slumped; arms crossed as if he was hugging himself; his axe, attached to his belt, seemed forgotten; and his hair bristled in the wind under the horned helmet. The bandages, still wrapped around his face, and his empty eyes, accented the desolate look. In Snotlout's lap, like a child, rested a small, wooden figurine – the object the fool had risked his life over.

The ash hugging Snotlout's clothes tickled Hiccup's senses, and the dragon wiggled his nose to prevent himself from sneezing. One of Hiccup's sharp claws snapped a twig as he walked toward his cousin.

Like a rabbit, a horned head snapped in his direction.

"Hiccup?" the young Viking asked; his voice reserved not due to fear but rather, apprehension.

"Yeah," Hiccup responded.

"Good, you didn't get lost. Let's go." Gone was Snotlout's voice. Hiccup wasn't sure how to explain it, but it didn't have the same bubbling, light roar-like quality to it anymore; instead, it seemed to have an edge sharp enough to cut glass.

For a moment, Hiccup had entertained telling his cousin how stupid of a plan it was to wait, in the dark, in the woods, for him to just appear. The fact they found each other was, in part, blind luck. But, Snotlout's new disposition and the shame of burning down the house made the dragon swallow his tongue.

As they trekked through the winding path, Hiccup hummed a little tune – a sweet little tune, one that he mother had taught him but through a dragon's mouth, the tone changed from light and cherubic to earthy and thick. A large black tail wagged in beat with the melody. Hiccup's song worked two-fold: it took his mind off his aching muscles, and it made him think about something that wasn't Snotlout related.

His cousin, other than stiffening, made no comment about the queer song.

In the distance, wolves howled at the moon and interrupted his humming. Hiccup made no effort to start up again. Instead, he blinked, and focused on his cousin, who was walking across a log suspended over a small stream.

"Why'd you do it?" the black dragon asked suddenly.

Snotlout paused on the log. "Do what?"

"Not give me up."

Snotlout stared. Then without an answer, the Viking turned and continued onward.

The journey to the cabin wasn't long – a little over a mile but it was located high up in the pass that made it feel far more isolated than it was. It didn't help that the road was poorly managed, feeling far more like a game trail than anything used regularly. Fallen trees, rolling rocks, and small streams were all present.

Hiccup clenched his tail, and forced his complaining body over, yet another, boulder. His claws left deep gashes in the stone like gaping wounds.

"For what it's worth," Hiccup said between heavy breaths, "I'm sorry about the house."

Snotlout paused, and Hiccup sent a brief prayer of thanks to Freyja for the momentary break.

"Apologies are like…" the young Viking stopped and brought his left hand to his chin; his right hand still holding the carved figurine. "The first time you get a treat, it tastes great, you know? The second one's not nearly as good. By the time you get to the tenth, they just start to make you sick."

Hiccup felt his wings sag on his back. "Oh," the young dragon said.

They continued on in silence. Eyes, from various critters, twinkled at them out of the deep, dark woods like tiny, radiant stars

Hiccup, when his attention was not needed on the trail to climb over logs or boulders, found his gaze drifting skyward, where large trees periodically blocked parts of the moon above.

Suddenly, a large twang, like something snapped, and the flutter of leaves interrupted the night's harmony.

Body tensing, Hiccup heard his cousin screech and saw Snotlout's axe collide with a rock on the ground.

It took a minute for Hiccup to read the scene in front of him: Snotlout was dangling upside down, about six feet off the ground, with a rope wound around his feet. The rope was draped over a higher branch and held the young man high in the air. The Viking's twitching eyes and line-thin smile were absolutely murderous.

Once he realized what had transpired, the dragon couldn't hold it in and laughed out loud; his laughter sounded like a bird – a rumbling, deep-toned bird, but a bird nonetheless.

Caught up in his mirth, Hiccup, without thinking, said, "Did you really not see that?" Naturally, he didn't tell Snotlout that he hadn't seen it either.

Snotlout's glare could have scared Stoick if the Viking was standing straight up but from his upside down position, it looked hilarious.

Hiccup tried to hold back his laughter as Snotlout said, "Cut me down."

The Night Fury probably should have heeded Snotlout's rumbling, rage-building tone, but he couldn't help it. The opportunity was too good to pass up, and with how terribly the day had gone, he needed a good laugh.

"I don't know, maybe I'll leave you here; being held upside down in the cold, dark woods is good for a Viking."

"Hiccup." There was so much maturity in the voice that Hiccup's ears fell flat on his head and his wings froze like a berated child. He briefly wondered if Snotlout would ever be the rambunctious idiot he was even a few days before: he was acting far too much like his father right now, which made things even more awkward.

"Alright, alright," the dragon said and wandered over to the rope anchored on the ground. With one clean swipe, Snotlout came crashing to the ground with a loud thud.

As he did, something popped out of his grip and came to a rest at Hiccup's front paws.

It was a wooden carving – not expertly done – but the shape was still easily identifiable. A deer stood proud and majestic as it looked forward. The creature's antlers were gorgeous, and it had one hoof raised into the air. A myriad of scars, like the animal had been alive, married its wooden skin with a partially nasty one tunneled deep into the herbivore's chest.

Hiccup looked at his cousin as the Viking hurriedly snatched up the carving. "So," the dragon asked.

"None of your business! You've already done enough damage today." Snotlout said, his posture was as tight as a ship's sail. Without another glance, the Viking continued his shuffle toward The Outpost.

Hiccup sighed and followed after his cousin, heavy tail dragging behind him.

They had probably only gone a mile, but Hiccup's claws hurt badly – it felt as if the claws themselves were poking him like small pricks from a porcupine. His muscles were raging furiously – the pain hitting his body with the force of a waterfall. Hiccup did his best to ignore it and continue forward.

To distract himself, he forced his ears to stand up tall and listen to the woods. It was so easy to hear the scurrying of rodents, the hooting of owls, and the trampling of leaves. Even though it was dark, the forest had never felt more alive to the young dragon.

Not paying attention, Hiccup's black nose collided with something soft and bounced back.

"Why'd you stop?" Hiccup asked as he rubbed his nose with a paw.

"It's dark," Snotlout said with a look that proclaimed, _moron_. "I'm making sure we are going the right way."

Hiccup blinked and looked around. Sure it wasn't light but it wasn't that dark. It was still possible to make out the trees, grass, rocks, pretty much everything. "You can't see?" Hiccup asked.

A glare. "That's what happens when it gets dark, bladder-butt."

At least some of Snotlout's charm remained.

Large black, scale-encrusted shoulders shrugged, and leathery wings fluttered briefly. "Well, I can see fine," Hiccup said.

Under his breath, Snotlout muttered, "Idiot," before quickly choosing the left path and heading off again.

Hiccup raised a claw to his mouth: was it really that much easier to see in the dark as a dragon? He knew his vision was better – he remembered noticing when the Vikings abandoned him in the woods – but just how much better was it? The dragon tried to remember what having human eyes were like but found the comparison nigh impossible. Did they not see any depth in the shadows at night? Was the wood's darkness absolute or could they make out past the first row of trees? It was like Hiccup had already forgot what human senses were like – a thought that terrified the young Night Fury.

Soon, the two companions left the cover of the trees and started to head through a grassy plain; it wasn't tundra – they weren't nearly high enough for that – but it was a field near the top of the pass. To the left, the plains quickly changed into sharp cliffs that reached to the ocean. To the right, the plains became a series of steep, rolling hills before blending in with a large valley – the valley where most of Berk's agriculture happened.

They were nearly there. Through the plains and into the woods on the far side, a small stand that rested on the edge of the mountains, and they would reach The Outpost.

Snotlout kept strolling forward as if nothing was different.

Hiccup paused, one claw suspended in the air as if he was pawing at some invisible advisory. There was a feeling in his bones, an itch that he couldn't scratch, and it was giving him a very strange vibe.

Hiccup whipped his head back and forth, ears flopping on his head, and followed after his cousin.

A sound – low and earth shaking, a bit like growling – breached Hiccup's hearing, and the Night Fury's ears stood up straighter than a ship's mast. It was quiet, on the edge of his sensory range, but it made his wings shiver uncontrollably, and his eyes search wildly around the field.

"Did you hear that?" Hiccup asked Snotlout. Fear tickled his words.

Snotlout turned around and glared irritation at the dragon. "I am not in the mood."

Hiccup reared back; his ears fell against his head, and he glanced cautiously at his cousin. "I wasn't joking."

"Yeah, sure." The Viking sneered. "Your human ghost has come to haunt us, instead."

"That's not what I was going to say!"

Distracted by his cousin, Hiccup didn't even notice the trap under his feet, but he did notice when he the kicked the rock holding it down, and the rope viciously grabbed his feet, pulling them together in a vice-like grip.

Yelping, a cute meow-like sound, the dragon felt his body pulled upward by the rope, and he soon found himself dangling upside down above the ground. The most insulting part? The tree the rope was hanging from was the only dang one in the entire field.

Out of reflex, like a bird caught in a net, Hiccup's wings fluttered – he still wasn't used to flapping – which caused the dragon to swing in the air.

Like someone had cut the tension out of a fishing line, Snotlout's guffaws destroyed the serene night air. It was picturesque Snotlout: the Viking was rolling on the ground clutching his chest.

Naturally, it just took some Hiccup suffering to bring back a bit of his most hated rival's soul.

A black tail twitched, and Hiccup's ears fell flat on his head as he growled at his cousin's rough shriek-like laughs.

"Did you really not see that?" Snotlout did his best to impersonate Hiccup's voice, but the dragon was certain it wasn't that high-pitched.

"Like you could even see it!"

The dragon wiggled and tried to free his trapped legs. It didn't work, other than making the dragon swing more so in the air. Snotlout continued to laugh.

"I am so sick of ropes, blankets, and getting stuck in things!" Hiccup growled. "Why are there so many of these stupid traps, on the trail, anyway?"

Then Hiccup remembered: he was a dragon and dragons had sharp claws and could breathe fire.

Snotlout's laughs calmed down. "Don't worry, little dragon." The voice turned mocking, "Your hero is here to save you yet again."

"Hero?" Hiccup gagged. He then smirked at Snotlout. "I don't need you – I can free myself!"

Before Hiccup could even open his mouth, Snotlout roared out, his voice rushed and filled with concern, "Don't even think about breathing fire! The last thing we need is for you to set the field on fire."

His first instinct was to ignore his cousin; it was only a little fire after all, but images started to flash in his mind: images of Snotlout's house and how the fire had jumped, twirled and danced around on the wood as if it was alive. But most importantly, how the flame, like a man possessed, had simply refused to go out.

Large, black, leathery wings drooped as Hiccup pouted and fell limp in the rope's embrace.

As Snotlout gripped his axe to cut Hiccup free, a cloud covered the moon and dropped the visibility drastically – Hiccup could still see, but it was noticeable more difficult; for his cousin, the visibility had dropped to only a few feet.

Likely waiting for such an event, malicious growls suddenly blasted into Hiccup's ears.

Wolves. At least six of them had surrounded them and were looking at Snotlout with an expression that wasn't love.

In some twisted sense of irony, Hiccup realized that from his heightened position, the wolves couldn't reach him. The wolves were, instead, focused entirely on his cousin and didn't even spare a glance at the wiggling, trapped Night Fury.

Hiccup only had time to bark out a surprise before they rushed in to attack.

Snotlout immediately swung his axe around, and one of the wolves barely managed to dodge. Small pieces of fur waffled though the air. The others seemed to hesitate – their growls sounded almost like conversation as the creatures threw glares at one another.

Wasting no time, Snotlout charged the wolves. The four-legged mammals quickly scattered into the dark. Hiccup ignored the sound of wood plopping on dirt – the deer figurine falling out of Snotlout's grip – and focused on the assailants because while his cousin couldn't see them in the dark, he most certainty could.

Hiccup did his best to direct his cousin to where the attacks were going to come from, but it quickly became apparent that there were too many wolves to keep track of – yelling directions just made things more confusing.

As he watched his cousin fend off another wave of attacks, Hiccup quickly turned his focus to freeing himself. He looked at the rope and took a deep breath; the feeling of warm, smoky, clingy particles ticked his throat like a million tiny ants as the substance started to craw to freedom. Then, with a flash, an image of a burning house and Snotlout's devastated expression invaded his consciousness, and Hiccup lost control of the gas – choking and sputtering with indignation.

Coughing outrageously, Hiccup watched some of the gas meander out of his mouth but it had neither form nor structure.

He tried again, but no matter what the little dragon did, the gas refused to come – the images of Snotlout's house burned his mind more furiously than any real fire would.

Just then, three wolves made a simultaneous attack from different directions on Snotlout. The Viking managed to catch the first wolf on the head with his axe – the body crumpled without so much as a peep from the creature – and duck under the second wolf.

The third wolf, however, managed to drag its claw deep into Snotlout's left arm. Red blood erupted out of the wound and landed on the small wooden figurine at Snotlout's feet.

With a quick swing of his axe, Snotlout manage to prevent the wolf from doing more damage but his action threw him off balance, and the Viking started to fall down the steep hill that led toward the valley. Snotlout, reacting to his precarious position, started to run down until he could use his momentum to correct his balance. The wolves followed the young man into the dark and away from the dragon – their growls sounding more like chuckles.

Hiccup snapped his green eyes back to the rope holding him prisoner and once again tried to bring on the fire. He managed to bring up the gas but, yet again, the images branded his consciousness and Hiccup choked once more.

Yelling ravenously, Hiccup furiously looked around seeing if there was anything that could help him. His eyes came to rest on the small deer figurine. The antlers of the deer were soaked in blood, and the head was detached from the rest of the body – something must have stepped on it.

Snotlout cried out in pain and the wolves howling increased.

"You cowards!" Hiccup roared as he fluttered his wings feverously. The dragon, once again, started to swing like a pendulum.

Then, without so much as thinking, Hiccup tried to stretch his mouth out to bite the rope. The pain was tremendous – Hiccup had never stretched his neck and stomach muscles to such extremes before, it felt like something was choking him and punching his stomach repeatedly. Unlike the day before with the blankets, he didn't have the ground to push off of – the only thing he could rely on was his own strength. He ignored the vicious sensations and pushed himself harder. He was so close to freedom – the rope was only inches from his muzzle.

His cousin cried out again.

With one last, roar-encouraged lunge, Hiccup felt his teeth chomp down on the rope. The white incisors sliced through it like it was no stronger than twine.

Pressure released, the Night Fury came crashing down to the ground. He landed awkwardly on one wing. Ignoring the pain, Hiccup jumped up and bounced off toward where his cousin had gone, adrenaline fueling his drive.

Snotlout was still standing. He was missing his helmet, his vest was torn, the bandages on his face were unraveling, his breathing laborious, and his eyes were darting all around him as he looked for the wolves, but he was still standing.

Hiccup could see the wolves – there were still four of them, and they seemed very annoyed if their snapping jaws were any indication. The pack was slowly circling his cousin from just beyond the Viking's vision.

Without waiting for them to attack, Hiccup quickly caught up and launched himself at one of the mutts. He ignored the yelp of the wolf and used his claws, like he was digging through dirt, to dive into flesh.

Hiccup ignored the smell of sweat, dirt, and saliva; instead, he focused on filling the air with that strong, acrid, metallic smell that was rising like a plume of smoke.

He let all his anger, his rage from the recent events, flow into his attack. He bit, tore, and swung without mercy until it felt like he was attacking something after a rainstorm – everything slopped as if wet and the figure beneath him wasn't even twitching.

It was then that the clouds moved away and drenched the scene in moonlight.

As if something had drained him of all his energy, Hiccup felt his green eyes open in shock. He was an absolute mess. Thick globs of red clung to his black scales like panicked children – blood that was not his own.

Gagging, Hiccup spit out something that had been tickling his tongue and mouth: a large swath of fur splashed on the ground with a splat. From the smells beneath him, the Night Fury decided it was best not to look down and instead looked at his cousin.

Snotlout's mouth trembled lightly, and the Viking held the axe in front of him cautiously.

Hiccup smiled at his cousin.

With one look at the blood dripping from the sharp, reddened teeth and the fur dangling between the fangs like miniature tapestries, Snotlout took a reflexive step back.

It just so happened to be over the edge of a steep hill. Cursing, Snotlout tumbled down the side and out of Hiccup's sight.

With the adrenaline worn off, Hiccup now heard the complaints his body was filing against him with startling clarity: it raged, screamed and howled abuse at its master. Still, Hiccup managed to pull himself off the mess underneath him and crawl to the edge of the hill so he could see where Snotlout went.

He also took the time to spare a glance around. The three remaining wolves were watching him with great apprehension and had fallen back to the edge of the field.

A gasp of pain punctured the still air. Snotlout, all the way at the bottom, landed on a sharp rock and twisted his ankle, which cracked in a large pop like someone was snapping his or her knuckles.

Out of the edge of his vision, Hiccup saw one of the wolf's ears perk up. The mutt glanced at the black dragon before starting to move cautiously toward the wounded Snotlout.

Hiccup glanced at his cousin: he was at the bottom of the hill with a small gathering of large rocks and shrubs. There were trees to his left and right. Behind him, the hill smoothed out into the valley; Hiccup could see smoke billowing from one of the houses in the distance.

Snotlout held his left ankle. His teeth gritted in pain, and the young Viking forced his eyes to scan the horizon. There was no axe in Hiccup's sight.

Green eyes explored looking for a glint of metal among the natural vegetation. Eventually, the dragon found a glint of moonlight bouncing off a metal edge, a metal edge that was halfway up the hill.

As if they could read his mind, the wolves approached the downed Viking with more vigor, all the while keeping a keen eye on the black dragon.

"Snotlout, watch out! They're coming!" Hiccup yelled, his voice shockingly raspy.

Snotlout quickly started to look for something to defend himself – the only thing he could find was a stick, half as wide as his arm. The Viking quickly snapped off the little leaves and twigs, leaving behind a small club-like weapon.

The black dragon tried to ignore the pain in his muscles – the river running wild in his blood – but his body refused to listen. No matter how hard he tried to lift himself up, his limbs told him that such an action was impossible.

Like sharks scenting blood in the water, the wolves, still eyeing the Night Fury, moved in on Snotlout.

As they got closer, their light howls turned into crass muttered before morphing into giggling growls almost like a pack of hyenas.

Hiccup focused on using everything from his wings to his claws to drag and roll down the hill toward his cousin, doing his best to ignore the rocks and twigs scratching and ripping at the membrane in his extra appendages. The dragon looked around, and the fins on his tail tightened.

There was no way he would be able to make it to his cousin before the wolves did.

A memory, like a visitor that walked in uninvited, suddenly appeared in his mind. _It was of Berk; a Berk that was on fire as dragons swooped and swerved all over. Hiccup watched as both Vikings and dragons battled and destroyed. He even saw himself scrambling away from a Monstrous Nightmare like a blundering fool. But then he heard it. A shrill sound – one that made the hairs on the back of the neck stand on straight – rose up from a small blip to a raging roar before a massive bolt of blue energy rocketed into a tower._ And just like that the vision passed.

Rapidly shaking his head back and forth, Hiccup cleared the imagery from his mind. The wolves were closing in on his cousin, and he tried to focus, ignoring their feral yaps and snarls.

A Night Fury had caused the blast that hit the tower; Hiccup was a Night Fury. In theory, he could do the same thing.

Hiccup stayed his slippery descent, took a deep breath and tried to bring up the fire – he felt the gas building up, but he had no idea what to do. He quickly lost control of the ignitable material.

Irritated, he slapped the ground with a forepaw and tired again, but he didn't even know where to start. It didn't make sense. How could he cause the gas to shoot forward? Did he condense it? Spit it? How did the blue, plasma-like fireball ignite? Did he have to do it while he ejected the gas? Or was it before that?

Snotlout was now yelling, telling the wolves to get back, panic palpable in his shaking voice.

Like all the air taken out of a sail, two large black wings wilted completely, and a strange, hollow whining, like a mourning bird, arose form Hiccup's mouth as he covered his head with a paw.

It was impossible.

He didn't want to watch his cousin die.

The clock hit midnight, and Hiccup heard the Viking call out his name for help.

Like Odin himself had rained inspiration on him, Hiccup threw his paw off and tried once more, willing it to work, believing it to work, even though he had no idea where to begin. Hiccup opened his mouth and-

A blast, a loud, shrill, hair-raising blast erupted into the field. Sparkling like a fallen star, the blue piece of plasma hurtled like lightning and smashed into one of the wolves just as it prepared to leap at Snotlout. The collision rammed into the wolf with the force of an avalanche and caused dust and rocks to explode up in a thick, wispy cloud. The only discernable thing that remained of the wolf was some blackish, red soot.

With their tails between their legs, the last two wolves turn and fled, disappearing into the woods.

Hiccup sputtered as he watched in shock. He blinked rapidly and felt his wings, itching all over, twitch lightly. He turned his head toward where the blast had originated. It hadn't been from him – no, he had failed yet again, choking on gas and images of burning buildings.

In the trees, on the edge of the field, was a large, black, majestic creature.

Hiccup felt his wings tighten as his tail snapped straight. He watched as the other dragon's green eyes drifted between Snotlout and himself, before, in a puff of smoke, the larger Night Fury disappeared back into the woods.

Cautiously keeping an eye on the woods, Hiccup forced his body to continue his crawl toward Snotlout. He used his wings to paddle like a creature in water and his tail to slither like a snake.

It took a while, but eventually, the small Night Fury collapsed next to the Viking with a crunch as twigs beneath his body snapped.

Out of the corner of his vision, Hiccup saw a pair of green eyes watching the two of them from just inside of the woods. The orbs glistened and shined. Of course, they disappeared into the darkness a moment later, so the small dragon wasn't sure if he had imagined them or not.

Still, why had the dragon saved Snotlout? That made no sense. Dragons were mindless killing machines that definitely did not save Vikings.

Hiccup rolled over and felt one of his wings flop onto his cousin in some weird semblance of a hug. It hadn't been intentional, but Hiccup was too tired to move it off.

Snotlout, sounding like he aged fifty years, turned his gaze toward the panting dragon and said, voice dry and pained, "Hiccup?"

"Yeah, it's me." Hiccup gasped out in between his breathing.

Snotlout, remarkably, didn't push the wing off and instead chuckled lightly. After a moment he asked, "Why is it, that everyone near you ends up nearly dying?"

"It's a talent."

The Viking tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a squeak.

Then Hiccup heard something he thought he would never, not in a million years, hear.

"Thanks," Snotlout said and closed his eyes.

Hiccup focused on his cousin's breathing – the rise and fall of his chest wasn't shallow, just tired. The black dragon lowered his head to the ground and tried to slow his labored wheezing.

Snotlout, voice sounding like it had just run a marathon, said, "You know, that blue fire thing was pretty cool."

Green eyes blinked as Hiccup realized that Snotlout thought he had shot the fiery bolt; still, right then, he saw no need to correct his cousin and instead answered with, "Yeah, it was."

It was probably a really stupid idea to fall asleep, but Hiccup couldn't keep his eyes open. They were just so heavy.

As he drifted out of consciousness, his last thought was that if something did go wrong, maybe the other Night Fury would save them again.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

I love this chapter. Sure it's not necessarily well written (I'll probably have to edit more later), but I enjoy the way it plays out from the conversation at the start to the symbology of the little deer figurine. It's also nice to get some actual action going rather than just dialogue.

Poor Hiccup; setting the house on fire affected him quite a bit. Now he will have to find a way to get past his sudden fear of breathing fire. Nothing ever is easy for him is it?

I hope this chapter wasn't too graphic for a T rating. If so, let me know, and I will tone it down. Although, I did love the "…used his claws, _like he was digging through dirt_, to dive…" simile that I used here. First time I wrote it, I literally cringed, as the imagery was so vivid in my mind.

There is some pretty heavy foreshadowing in this chapter – see if you can find it!


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